HAYLO: The Parody From Hell
by Ridley the Violator
Summary: Don't ever read this god damn thing, no matter what you do.
1. Chapter One 1 of 2

**HAYLO**

_The Parody from Hell_

_Worst God Damn Idea in the World Edition_

_Author's Foreword_

While reading this abomination of a story, some of you might be prompted to ask: 'why would someone create such a filthy disgusting turgid piece of decrepit ass shit?' You might wonder 'where the hell did this forsaken slough of anal cystic acid spew forth from?' And so here, in advance, is my answer.

'_Yet she increased her whorings, remembering the days of her youth, when she played the whore in the land of Egypt and lusted after her paramours there, whose members were like those of donkeys, and whose emission was like that of stallions.'_-The Bible, Ezekiel 23:19 through 23:20

So you see: God was my inspiration.

**Chapter One**

The Pillar of Autumn

Or

_**John's Packin' Heat 'round my Bitchez**_

"_I'd like to pillar her autumn if you know what I mean."-John Steinbeck_

Space. It is generally agreed upon in the scientific community that space is cold. Normal Fahrenheit or Celsius measurement can barely manage to describe how chill as the winter night it is, so I will instead use a quote. As a wise man once said, "Man, it's cold; my nipples are like pencil erasers."

Many people agree that space is filled with stars. Why, one has only to look up and see-SHIT IS THAT A SPIDER? MOOOOM I FOUND A SPIDER COME KILL IT! Anyways, stars are generally white, though there are also white and red stars. Hell, there are even dwarf stars. It takes many colors to make a rainbow of politically correct stars. Too bad there aren't any lesbian stars, I would totally take pictures.

Our setting for this shit storm is space. Vast, silent, cold, and full of tiny white things, like a nude _Magic: The Gathering_ tournament. Suddenly, a massively giant space ship cut across the camera. It was big and brown, the color of trash or shit, and made of old diet coke cans and assorted broken glass. It was heading towards a large artificial world in the shape of a ring. The ring world was big, but not as big as the huge pustule-like gas giant it orbited.

Massive penis ship? A vagina ring in space? Do I even need to spell out seckshual metaphor, people?

In fact, this whole story is so full of sexual metaphors that I could write an essay about it!

Which I will do right now.

_Why Halo is a Metaphor for Homosexual Power_

_By Fagpants McDeathofteAuthor, Ph.D_

The story begins with an almost transparent metaphor; the huge, cylindrical _'Pillar' of Autumn _has just exited slip space, obviously a metaphor for the vaginal canal. It is now aimed at the Halo ring world, a circular artifact of immense size, completely dwarfing the autumn in comparison. Halo itself indicates a vagina, while the _Autumn _is a penis. Halo is not only larger and much more powerful than the penis and is ultimately hollow, as there is no womb or cervix behind it. Furthermore, the Autumn itself is large and brown, but woefully inadequate to ever satisfy the false vaginal god that is Halo. This current of unattainability permeates all the female imagery in the game.

The scene shifts to the stereotypically wise Captain Keyes smoking a pipe. The shape of the pipe, when turned upside down, is the sillohute of an erect penis, which Keyes keeps readily at hand throughout this scene. Cortana and he converse, but Keyes appears to be too dimwitted to stay on track of the conversation. Cortana is a pseudo naked holograph, the projection of an AI; she has access to all the information in the world, while Keyes, even when armed with his phallic pipe, is unable to cope. It should be noted that Cortana has no vagina, an interesting thing since it must have been men who designed her. Do they fear the vagina? It should also be noted that Keyes's pipe deliberately disappears for the rest of the game after this humiliating conversation. Also of note is the conversation itself, which consists of vague sexual metaphors mainly meant to convey the feeling that this 'Covenant' that is pursuing them is able to 'get their first,' and that their ships have 'always been faster.' The meaning of these will become clear once the Covenant are revealed.

We cut back to the Master Chief, just waking up from Cryo suspension. He goes through a series of 'warm-up' exercises, all of them dominated by the continual 'charging up' of his armor's 'personal shielding.' But once the technician that has 'aided him' in 'warming up' is 'finished,' he is promptly discarded by a scripted event. This sets up the Master Chief as the dominant force of homosexuality in the game, who uses and breaks his partners before discarding them and moving on.

It is at this point that the Covenant is revealed in its full glory. Their weapons are composed of sleek feminine curves, their technology is florescent and pink, and they do not shoot bullets but ovary shaped projectiles of super heated energy…their weapons are also some of the most effective in the game, far more powerful than the blocky male projectile weapons. Not only this, but the Covenant's Plasma Rifle, Plasma Pistol, and Energy Sword are both composed of two separate halves, mirror labial lips. The races of the Covenant are also of note.

There are the Grunts, small, unattractive and generally weak creatures that the Covenant have obviously enslaved to do the Grunt work. They appear to have a symbiotic, sexual relationship with the Elites, and they can often be seen staring at each other before the player engages them in combat. The Grunts represent the proper role of men in the heterosexual society.

The Elites themselves have no obvious masculine traits. They speak an elegant form of gibberish, and are in generally taller but sleeker than the humans. Most importantly, the move gracefully and are armored in bright, feminine colors. They represent the idealized role of women in the heterosexual society ruled by women, which is what the Covenant is a metaphor for.

There are also the Jackals. The Jackals are outcasts, hiding behind large testicle shaped shields. They are above grunts but below Elites, and merely represent those women in the heterosexual society who have not yet given up completely on reliance on male roles.

The Hunters are large matronly aliens without actual faces. They appear to represent the mothering instinct, the purest and most powerful force on earth. They are at once the most dangerous and most vulnerable enemies in the game; they have incredible long range and close range damage, but a single shot to the stomach (or womb) can instantly dispatch them.

Even the Covenant's vehicles are sexual in nature. The Banshee is obviously a woman with PMS, symbolizing the awesome power of feminine anger. The Wraiths and Ghosts are blown up and miniature representations, respectively, of the stately but unstoppable woman's rights movement and the quick escape from a subservient male dominated world that the Covenant offers its members.

The Master Chief must make his way through the ship, impotent and without weapons, with the Covenant in hot pursuit. He is the ultimate avatar of not only male power, but male power that is not reliant on women for gratification. Thusly the Covenant must destroy him.

The Master Chief eventually reaches the Bridge, coming up behind Captain Keyes and suggestively breathing his name out. Captain Keyes turns to John and explains that they must protect Cortana and make sure the Covenant do not get their hands on her; Cortana represents the man's ideal woman. She does everything that they her to, and walks around naked all the time. She is their last ideal woman and must be protected, though in an ironic twist she still manages to upstage every other male character in the game in terms of intelligence.

Keyes extracts Cortana from the Bridge's computer systems, the AI commenting in a brief ironic twist; "Yank me," before being pulled.

John accepts his duty, but like a typical man cannot do so without commenting on Cortana's abilities, specifically citing the stereotype of women being poor drivers—though the game has already challenged this by having the feminine Covenant's ships be far faster and more efficient than the human ones. As the scene ends, Keyes reaches down below the camera and does _something_, claiming that he is giving John a weapon, though he does not specify what weapon or why he is giving it. Obviously it is a hand job. This is the second hint of homosexuality being the major force at work in the human's struggle.

John continues on, suddenly acquiring ammo for his weapon—perhaps signaling that he is ready for sexual contact again. The first Covenant he kills are the grunts, setting up a trend of wiping out all the submissive males in the game, usually exemplified in killing grunts while they cower in impotent fear.

John makes his way through the ship, at one point encountering his old cryo chamber. Cortana comments that the Covenant wanted to catch him napping. Now, at this point the Covenant have obviously been no match for the full force of John's homosexual rage. This comment expounds upon the idea that even perfect femininity is no match for the raw power of the strong top gay.

John proceeds on to the escape pods. Along the way he acquires items known as 'Frag Grenades.'

But are they really 'frag' grenades? Or are they 'FAG' grenades?

John soon escapes, despite the large hymen shaped shields that the Covenant erect to stop him. The escape pod he uses is shaped strangely like a sperm cell—and even more alarmingly, the pilot is a strangely butch woman. This is the third time the game has made reference to females in relation to driving. Driving is an important theme in the game.

The pod is promptly ejaculated out of the large phallic _Pillar_. It speeds towards the ring world, dodging the attacks of the Covenant ships—possibly a metaphor for birth control?

The pod promptly enters the Ring world, signaling of course the fertilization of the egg. But since the sperm cell in this case is carrying John, it would make it gay sperm, which means that huge super vagina that the Covenant worships has been corrupted by the purest form of male strength. Does this hint at STD infection, as in the case of gay husbands giving their wives AIDS? This comes into play later.

The pod then crash lands on Halo, killing every single person aboard except for John; only masculine gayness in its purest form could survive the power of the giant vagina. Cortana suggests that there was nothing they can do-implying again how impotent man is in the face of super vagina. John continues on and must cross a huge flowing river; this either indicates grief or menstruation. John then proceeds to rescue each of the other landed pods and collect his fellow men; each situation has a unique meaning. The cliff with the rocks symbolizes genital warts and the fear of breasts. The cliff with no rocks signifies men's obsession with shaved genitals. The underground facility with the shooting sky beam is man's jealousy of a woman's ability to get pregnant. It should be noted that John encounters the thematic character 'Sergeant Sgt. Johnson' in the instance prior to this. Sgt. Johnson is John's supposed friend and possible lover through-out the game, continually returning to aid John; he represents the heterosexual side of John, but also the scared and secretive gay deep within. More on that later. The humans regroup and escape the valley, symbolizing an escape from oral sex. The entire level has been sequences after sequence of John reattaining his masculine identity after the hand job from Captain Keyes.

The next level is a false high point within the meta-story; John, now reunited with his heterosexual comrade has suppressed the gayness within. Cortana also returns takes a back stage to their testosterone charged antics, where as before she was closer to John. They make there way through cliffs heavily defended by Covenant. It should be noted that John is given a sniper rifle with a large amount of bullets. The rifle has an extremely long but thin barrel, representing the power and fragility of the penis. But it is only effective when enemies cannot see the player and are thus unable to dodge the white tracer shots that the sniper fires—a metaphor for insemination. The Sniper Rifle sequences are a metaphor for rape, but the real star of the level are the turrets. The turrets have large, three pronged barrels, reminiscent of a woman opening her legs. They are the Covenant's latest attempt to destroy the men with feminine power; the blue projectiles they fire are unlimited, the top two representing ovaries and the bottom one representing the birth canal; they symbolize the infinite power of birth that women hold. It is possible for John to abuse these turrets, turning them on the Covenant to destroy them. This is in keeping with the rape theme of the sniper rifle. It is also of note that the entire level takes place at night—the perfect time for rape. The message is clear: the only thing men can do when they get together is rape, rape, rape.

The second part of the level occurs after the humans have entered the reverse in-birthing of the gravity lift into the Covenant space craft. This shows how they are violating the laws of nature by entering the woman's inner sanctum; the womb and birth canal. The covenant ship has a pink and purple color scheme and almost organic design, and the humans trash everything. Shortly they rescue Captain Keyes, who for John has now come to represent masculine power that transcends homo or hetero sexuality. They escape, captain Keyes furthering the rape theme by commandeering a Covenant drop ship. In the final act of violation, they crush two matronly hunters with the double prong penises of the drop ship. The premise of the level is clear at this point, as this entire time the Covenant cruiser has been the one supplying the enemies in the level and they have finally penetrated and violated its inner sanctum. Not even the power of birth can prevent from the violently destructive penises of straight men. So far Halo appears to be commenting on the destructive nature of vaginal sex, but the converse power of gay dick is a growing sub-theme that will blossom to dominate the text.

The gay theme is especially brought out in the Silent Cartographer level. This level is about anal sex, straight or otherwise. They begin with a 'beach landing' a clumsy metaphor for anal play. In a telling metaphor, the Covenant are unable to resist the attack—a metaphor for how powerful anal is. John soon acquires a Warthog, which allows him to go much faster and provides with extra fire-power; a metaphor for the overwhelming power of butt sex. There isn't much more to the level—except during the attack by the cloaked Elites. These cloaked agents represent homosexual connotations of anal sex. After John has thoroughly penetrated the inner facility, the Pelican picks him up and takes him through a large, colon shaped 'Secret Passage.'

The next level is a companion to the last in terms of theme. It is called Assault on the Control room, and it is men hiding their gayness from their wives. Throughout the level John is harassed by the large purple vehicles of the Covenant. These vehicles are large and purple, possibly signifying dildos; they represent the ability of women to exist independently of men. Simultaneously, the thick covering of snow in the level represents both the covering up of homosexuality and AIDS infected semen being transmitted to the unsuspecting female, hence the Covenant's presence. Finally, John acquires the large brown tank in the penultimate moment of the level; he utterly destroys the Covenant, spraying white snow everywhere. This is a metaphor for packing the fudge, twice in one night.

Soon John arrives in the swamp. Now, the swamp begins the theme of the dangers of homosexuality for everyone in the game. For John, the swamp is shit dick. For the Covenant, it is spying your husband's stretched ass as he comes out of the shower from a night at the 'bath house.' But as John wages through a deluge of shit and takes a long colonic elevator into the bowels of the facility the true meaning of this theme becomes clear; the Flood are revealed.

The Flood are of course AIDS. For the Covenant, the Flood is the danger of being infected with AIDS by unfaithful husbands; this is reinforced by the foolhardy way in which the Covenant unleashes the Flood, just as in the failure to recognize the signs of a homosexual husbands. The Flood, or should I say the AIDS, infects the Covenant from the inside out, mirroring the insidious inception of the disease in marriage. It corrupts their reliance and worship of the 'Forerunners,' a transparent simile of the absent father figure. AIDS for the Covenant is the disillusionment of reliance on male authority.

But for John the Flood is something far worse; it is the ultimate adversary of the powerful homosexual, and for the rest of the game it is a constantly increasing threat, signifying the advance of the AIDS virus. In fact, from the moment the Flood are introduced it can be seen as John being infected with AIDS; he enters an anonymous room that has clearly been sealed off; a metaphor for anonymous sex with strangers in the bathroom stall of an airport. He then observes a recording of some obviously very straight marines as they are slowly navigating the facility. But in the climatic scene of the video, the Marines discover the body of a male alien and refer to it in lewd sexual terms, signifying that they too are gay on the inside. This represents John's last glimpse of heterosexuality; the rest of the game is John's final mastery of the gay.

John is suddenly deluged in flood 'infector' forms, an obvious metaphor for a cum shot. It is from this exact moment that he is infected and will be harassed by AIDS for the rest of the game.

The next level, the Library, signifies the search for the cure for AIDS: it is arduous and repetitive and no clear end is ever in sight. And the infection just keeps getting worse. On the flip side, the character of 343 Guilty Spark is a metaphor for gay rights activists: omnipresent and annoying, he haunts the character of the Chief and judges every action he takes as somehow not up to par with the cold, inhuman standards of his sentinel robots, creatures which when flipped upside down resemble the silouhuete of a woman giving birth to a phallic gun that shoots penetrating lasers.

Anyways, the Chief finally procures the 'Index,' which is in the shape of a penis. Now the Index is a woefully tiny phallic tool used to activate Halo, which as established before is a vagina. This would make the index the representation of the tamed erection whose only purpose is to give the female pleasure. In the game's penultimate moment of rejection, however, Cortana—or rather women in general—reject the tamed down low penis. Spark is furious because he sees it as homophobia, and the Chief is merely confused as he is still coming to grips with his gayness and his AIDS.

Cortana, who from the rejection of the penis is now confirmed to be a lesbian, convinces the Chief that they must destroy Halo once and for all. Cortana is not really a woman, but instead the personification of homosexuality, male or otherwise. The Chief finally accepts his gayness and decides to return to rescue Captain Keyes and reconcile the haunting hand job that first planted the seeds of doubt in the Chief's mind. However when they finally find Keyes they see that he has succumbed to the AIDS.

In the final level, the Chief goes around the phallic ship and sets up its countdown to 'explode.' This final ejaculation is the penultimate expression of gay power—a jet of gay jizz so strong that it wipes the slate clean of both Halo's femininity and the Floods AIDS. This is the denouncement of the game; the Chief fully accepts his ultra gay nature and is thusly granted the power to wipe away both the female dominance of the Covenant and the AIDS dominance of the flood. The Chief escapes on a space ship, and his final climactic words are: "I think we're just getting started."

This is of course a reference to all the butt sex he's about to dish out.

Anyways, on the bridge of the massive ship, an old man in fatigues with colored squares pinned to the chest walked back and forth. He thought they were medals, but in actuality they were craft paper. He paced and glared up with a hard (lol) stare at the map in front of him. Techies and deck officers milled about in a flowing mass of sub-humanity, like bees packed into a hive. A low buzzing ebbed and flowed throughout the room.

"Cortana," said Keyes, his voice gruff and ruff like a scruffy car muff. "Quit your bitching. All I need to know is; did we lose them?"

A tiny purple see-through woman appeared on a holographic pedestal beside him, cocking her hips to one side with an amused expression on her face. Her eyes had a somewhat sadistic gleam to them, and she appeared to be wearing thigh high leather boots and had a holographic riding crop in one hand.

"I think we both know the answer to that, Captain Keyes," she said smugly.

Old Captain Keyes's face contorted in momentary rage as his arthritic hip kicked in. "How would we both know the answer if you _haven't fucking told me_."

Cortana smirked again, purple teeth flashing out of the side of her mouth. "It's obvious, fucktard; if you'd just look at the map, you'd see that there are about ten thousand Covenant ships a moment away from butt raping us all to hell."

There was a loud squelching sound, like a raw and very moist cabbage being torn in half. They both turned to look and saw that one of the bridge crew had just divided into two clones, performing mitosis on the spot as the Techies are wont to do. Or is that meiosis? Damn this fucking biology!

Keyes cleared his throat and turned back, looking very confused. He narrowed his eyes at Cortana. "What do you mean 'map,' woman? What map?"

Cortana pointed at the large bright orange computer display right in front of Keyes. "The space map. You know, the one that takes up about half the room."

Another techie reproduced loudly and the swarm grew ever larger. They ignored it.

Keyes looked. At the map. "Oh, right. I forgot we had a space map-damn this Alzheimer's." He thought for a moment. "But we made a blind jump." His hands fumbled with opening a bottle of pain medication for his hip as he spoke "how did they-"

"Get here first?" interrupted Cortana with obnoxious loudness, cracking the riding crop against one thigh and leering.

The Captain jumped in surprise and slipped, accidentally putting his weight on his bad leg. "GOD DAMN YOU STUPID STRUMPET!" He whipped out his pistol as his hip exploded in old person agony. Cortana snickered in viscous satisfaction and pleasure. Enraged, Keyes fired at the intangible hologram before turning the gun on the crew, shooting blindly into the mass of techies that had multiplied their numbers exponentially since the beginning of the scene.

"The Covenant ships have _always_ been faster." She grinned in pleasure as Keyes writhed, still firing the gun off in random directions as he tried to support his weight on one old muscle-atrophied leg. "And," she continued, "at light speed my maneuvering options were limited." Her voice was so smug and annoying that it split the very ear drums of Zeus himself.

"SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP!" Keyes stuffed the barrel of the pistol into his mouth and hammered on the trigger frantically. However, he has spent all the bullets. After a minute Keyes calmed down and put the pistol away, because he doesn't keep it loaded. At least not anymore apparently.

"How does the rest of this conversation go?" he asked Cortana, reaching into his old person's medicine purse again and taking out a bottle of alzhemiers medication. Several medics dragged the dead techies away.

Cortana suddenly held a hand to her ear as if she were receiving a message. "Wait, captain! The Covenant has just launched a POTATAO SACK FULL OF BOARDING SHIPS!"

Keyes's jaw dropped open. "Cortana, I think your programming might have some…kinks."

"Oh yes it does," said Cortana. She grinned, cracking her riding crop again.

"Okay, never mind. A potato sack you say? Then we have only one option." He looked seriously up into Cortana's eyes. His voice was a hoarse whisper.

"Activate…_The Energizer Device_."

"But sir!" Cortana sputtered. "It was installed by Mexicans!"

"SHUT YOUR PIE HOLE AND DO AS I SAY, WOMUN!"

"Aah! You old prick!" Cortana did as he said and prepared the Energizer Device for activation. Keyes placed his hand on that big blue button from _Galaxy Quest_, which is where I stole this joke from.

"Are you sure about this?" asked Cortana warily.

"Ask yourself this Cortana," began Keyes. Suddenly his alzhemiers hit. "WHO ARE YOOOOOOOOU!"

"I am Cortana. And your pain is my pleasure."

Keyes shook himself. "I know. And that's why _we're out of _options. God help us all." He pressed the button. Everyone gasped. The ship rumbled with a an earth (space?) shattering climactic revving up. A strange device slowly rose from the floor. It buzzed and whirred with the agonized laborousness of a thousand damned souls. And then it made coffee.

Keyes picked up the cup and drank some. "Wow, this is the worst god damn coffee in the world." He poured it out on a dead techie that someone had forgotten to sweep into the corner of the room.

"I told you it hadn't been tested," sassed Cortana.

The aging Captain made one gnarled fist and looked ominously over it at Cortana. "I did," he grated, "what I had to do. You can sit there on your pansy assed pedestal and judge me, but know this; men like me are the reason you can go home to night and not worry about a Covenant fleet glassing your planet. Men like me are the reason you can go home, pop out a couple kids, and kiss your husband on the cheek. Men like me—"

"_You didn't do anything._"

Keyes stopped. "Yes, well. Maybe you should wake up the Chief. Since nothing works."

"Whatever." Cortana disappeared and the scene ended.

Hundreds of meters away in the bowels of the ship, in a cold dark storage room, next to a crate of fresh Florida oranges, was a mysterious cryogenic suspension tank. Frosted glass hid a hulking green figure deep within the steel canister, a man clad in olive green armor that was doused with scars and battle scorches. He was the slayer of armies human and alien; master of weapons both alien and human; destroyer of fleets usually alien, and ender of human nations by accident. He was the Master Chief, and he was having a dream about his mommy.

"Mommy, mommy!" cried the Chief, squeezing pale pearlescent tears from the corners of his large walnut shaped eyes. He was so cute. In the dream he looked up into the blurry mysterious face of his mother who he had never known and a single tear escaped his eye. Again.

His mom bent down to his dream infant size, her face still shrouded in mist. Honestly I don't know why I'm saying it's his mom when you can't even see her face—for all you know it could be something else, like a giant anthropomorphic ant for instance.

"John," she said, voicing echoing with sadness. "You must beware: great evil approaches to destroy your legend as slayer of armies human and alien, and all that shit. I must give you these advices three."

"'Advices?'"

His mother slapped him. "You shut up now. Listen carefully; you will meet enemies three. One is your shadow, your negative and opposite. One is your temptation, a creature of a masks and insidious pleasures. One is your creator, a baiter, and a chronic masturbator. One will be your lover. One will be your ally. And one will be your ultimate enemy."

"Well gee," said the Chief. "I hope the one that's my lover isn't also my creator, because that would be incest. And incest is just gross."

"That's true," said John's mysterious mother. "And one day that grossness might even save your life. By the way, I have one more thing to give you my son."

Her shrouded form leaned closer to him, its face still shrouded in mist like I said before.

"Kiss me good night?" asked John, puckering up. His mouth looked like an anus.

"Not quite." She spat in his face in a tender moment of character development. But then suddenly she was Cortana, replete with leather chaps and a riding crop!

"Mommy you changed!" shrieked John. Suddenly Cortana also spat in his face. Then Cortana turned into Dr. Hasley from the books and she picked him up and spat in his face. Then Dr. Hasley turned into Michael Jackson dressed as a zombie from thriller_, _but before anything involving pedophile jokes could happen a Covenant Elite appeared and shot Michael in the head. The Master Chief looked up at the big Elite, who was wearing purple armor and had a malevolent look about him.

"Mommy?" asked John.

The Elite shook his head. "Mommy? My name is Cercil Saltstein. You must be pretty fucking retarded if you can't tell the difference between your mother and a giant fucking space dinosaur." He stuck out his tongue. That made John angry. He tackled Cercil and they smashed through a glass wall and into reality, bursting out of the cryo tank in a spray of shards and icy mist. A techie squealed and jumped aside as the two came crashing to earth with a loud sound that I will not describe.

"THIS IS SPARTA!" screamed John in rage as he struck Cercil in the face with both fists.

"I AM BEOWULF!" retorted Cercil, but since that was a weaker meme he lost the fight.

John smashed the purple Elite's into the hard metal floor and gave him a concussion and broke his nose. The techie screamed at the horrible violence. Then John smashed Cercil's head into the ground again, making his skull blow up with the force of a small bomb. He stood up from corpse and dusted himself off, then carefully wiped some of the blood and torn skin from his gauntlet onto the techie's shoulder.

"Uh…sir? You okay?" asked the techie, urine staining his pants as he stepped out of reach. Or should I say…_Halo Reach_!

HA HA HA HA-

"Mommy?" asked John, his armor covered in gore and brains. He cocked his faceless golden visor at the techie in an insane way.

"What?" The tech began to fear for his life. He had only been spawned from the tech spawning pools yesterday, and he had so much to live for. He had not even replicated or spread his spores yet.

"Just kidding," said John. He grinned jovially and patted the tech on the back. The Master Chief was back in action, and he certainly wasn't insane-as can happen in other fan fictions.

"Oh thank god Master Chief!" said the tech. He pointed at the door out of the empty cargo bay. "We have to get the hell out of here sir!"

"MY NAME IS JOHN, ASSHOLE!" retorted the Chief, who at that moment had a gigantic aneurysm due to Cercil's body materializing out of his mind. His helmet rattled as his brain imploded. Gibbering madly, he snapped the tech's head off and ate it in one gobble. It was tragic too, because the tech had been about to spawn at any moment.

The now quite insane Chief proceeded down the corridor and into the armory, where many a marine was preparing to fight the invading Covenant forces. He passed groups of Covenant soldiers and Marines half-heartedly throwing paper at each other and making bang sounds while pointing their fingers at one another.

The Marines in the armory all waved hello to the Chief when he came (lol) in. They were conversing with each other in the strange dialect of the Halo Marine.

"Puta midro edjeara mio dio!" cried a Marine as his friend pulled two of a kind and raked in the bank.

The Chief laughed as he farted around with them, forgetting where he was supposed to be. Everything was going fine.

That was until he spied the most terrifying enemy this savage war had yet thrown at him.

"DEAR GOD IN HEAVEN!" screamed the Chief, clutching at a nearby marine for safety. "WHAT IS THAT?" he cried out, pointing shakily. Looking at that thing before him was like staring into the gaping maw of fucking hell itself. He fell to his knees just like in that scene from Platoon and threw his arms up in the air. Dramatic music played as the Marines all ran away in slow motion under a hail of non-existent gun fire.

"What, that?" asked the marine he had grabbed, stopping and jogging back to the Chief at normal speed. It was everybody's favorite token badass black character, Sergeant Avery J. Sgt. Johnson.

The Chief nodded his head vigorously. "YES THAT-oh hi Sgt. Johnson-CAN'T YOU SEE IT?"

"Boy!" snarled Johnson, chewing on his giant cigar. "It's a fucking used condom. What the hell kind of pussy are you!

Upon hearing the terrible truth, the Chief pulled Sgt. Johnson's gun out of its holster and shot the used condom to death. Sparks, debris, plastic, and mysterious fluid flew everywhere. Some even landed on Sgt. Johnson's face. There was a lot of it too—must have been Peter North's condom.

"JESUS!" screamed Sgt. Johnson as he furiously wiped the man yogurt off his face. "IF THAT EVER HAPPENS AGAIN I'M GONNA KILL YOU!"

"Oh relax," said John. "At least it didn't get in your hair."

A small Mexican marine named Mendoza walked up, shouldering through a group of random Marines who had stopped running and were now getting ready to fight. Many of them were cracking jokes and dry humping instead of that, though.

Mendoza looked at the Sergeant's face covered with goo and popped a boner, but then turned to the Chief. "Sir, the captain wants you on the bridge ASAP, you'd better follow-"

John shoved the barrel of Sgt. Johnson's gun into the marine's eye socket.

"Do I _look_ like a 'sir,' you mother fucking piece of shit?" he growled.

"Yes," said Mendoza confusedly. Sergeant Sgt. Johnson managed to push the gun away before The Chief could commit THE FRIENDLAY FIAR. Mendoza swooned at this masculine heroicism.

"You done with my fucking pistol, boy?" asked Sgt. Johnson, pointing to the pistol.

"What, this old thing?" flirted John. He dangled the weapon in front of his friends face. When he made a grab for it, John pistol-whipped him. Sgt. Johnson spun in a circle spitting out teeth and crumpled to the ground as the Chief left, stepping on his body on the way out.

"Wow the Chief is being kind of an asshole," said one of the Marines as they watched him go.

Sgt. Johnson got up and kicked in the balls. "Boy you show some respect for that man. He may be dumb as hell, but he's got more balls than a golf bag." He turned back to collecting his teeth, all of which were gold fillings.

"Let me help," said Mendoza, getting a dust pan and sweeping some of Sgt. Johnson's gold teeth into it. As Mendoza bent over the black sergeant noticed that the man's fatigues were extremely tight; you could see the flexing off his ass, as it flexed, muscularly. Also both his pockets were turned inside out and there were stains…well…

It was pretty gay.

Sgt. Johnson, hypnotized by the insanely tight pants, slowly reached towards Mendoza's ass. You know just to touch it, to make sure it was real. His eyes were those spinning hypnotization things that you see in cartoons.

Suddenly the Chief leaned back in through the door. "Oh and by the way," he said. "Good to see you again Sgt. Johnson." He looked at Johnson about to grope Mendoza and his face slowly turned to stone. Very homophobic stone.

"Wow, I had no idea you were into fisting, Johnson."

Then he left.

"Motherfucker!" yelled Sgt. Johnson as the spell broke. He pulled back and snatched the dust pan away from Mendoza and covertly pocketing his gold fillings. Mendoza was just confused.

Or at least, he seemed confused. But inside his feted mind a cry of triumph rang.

The Master Chief passed by a few firefights on his way to the bridge. He ended most of these through the patented "CHIEIFINATOR" technique; strapping entire bandoliers of grenades to passing to Marines, as well as passing children, and then throwing them at the enemy. By the time he got to the bridge his armor was covered in all sorts of blood. Some orange, some red, some purple. There was even a bit of intestine hanging off his shoulder. In his left hand he held a war-torn MA5B, and in his right a Covenant Jackal's severed lower jaw which he must have picked up at some point.

"Sleep well?" asked Cortana as John entered (lol) the bridge and walked up to her. The techies had replenished their numbers since the massacre and were now at full strength. The Chief had to push through a thick shrub of them, and they buzzed and chirped at him.

"Sure," he said as he stood in front of the pedestal and looked down at Cortana. "I had a dream about you being my mom."

"Kinky," said Cortana, and cracked her riding crop. Coincidentally the Chief's crotch plate was exactly level with her hologram.

What? Just setting the scene.

"Of course," growled John, fingering the alien jawbone. He noticed what he was holding it and promptly dropped it.

"Works for me," interjected Keyes, trying to be funny and failing. He stuck out his hand to greet the Chief, who stared at the hand for a long, long time. Then he wiped his own blood stained hand a on a passing tech (again) and shook with Keyes with his ten thousand pound grip. Every bone in Keyes's hand was instantly turned to powder.

"Maybe you should have that looked at, sir," said Cortana mockingly. Keyes hadn't felt anything because he was so old that all the nerves in his body had turned to dust long ago.

"Shut it noodlehead!" retorted Keyes. "Can't you see two men are talking?" He turned to John. "Can't believe the bitches these days, Chief."

The Chief nodded. "Absolutely, sir. You are my authority figure."

"I know Chief. Women. Who needs 'em, right?"

Cortana then cut the air supply to the bridge.

Since John was the only person in the room with his own oxygen supply he was able to watch with vague curiosity as the techs and officers clawed at their throats and hammered against the walls in terror.

"Chief," Keyes chocked out, "take…Cortana…get off the…ship…" He got out his pistol and ineffectually pressed it against the unresponsive Chief's chest, making small gurgling noises as he did so.

John took the pistol and knelt down next to the dying Captain. "Sorry, what was that?" he asked. Unfortunately Captain Keyes was dead.

"Looks like its just you and me, big boy," said Cortana, wiggling her holographic hips suggestively as the rest of the bridge crew finally died horrible slow deaths.

"Not really," said John. "When I wipe the human brainwaves from your memory, you'll be little more than calculator."


	2. Chapter One 2 of 2

"What?" sputtered Cortana.

"Just kidding," said John, laughing. He looked at the terminal. "How do I download you or whatever? You should have kept Keyes alive longer because I have no fucking—"

"I can do it myself," Cortana snapped. "There, it's done. Now yank me."

"What?"

"Go ahead. Yank me."

The Chief looked at her crotch. "Like…a Dutch rudder? Or a handjob? You don't have a dick. Or anything at all, really."

She gaped at him. "Fucktard. Yank. The chip."

"Oh, right." The Chief pulled out the 'chip.' He looked at it suspiciously as a nearby techie began to convulse as his dead brain fired off random nerves. "This is a USB flash drive."

"Just plug it in, faggot."

He did. An icy cold wash of ice coldness washed over him. It was like the prickling of a thousand icy needles.

Cortana's bitch laugh echoed in his ears. "Wow Chief, your head is fucked up right now. I kind of like it this way; it's more fun to torment _retards._"

"Of course," sighed the Chief. "You sadistic bitch. Always taking advantage of my weaknesses." He pulled out a ball gag and began trying to put it on over his helmet.

"You know it," said Cortana. The Chief heard her crack a whip inside his head. "Your pain is my pleasure."

"Goddamn I don't know what I'd do without you." The Chief put on a gimp mask.

"Now let's ride, bitch!" screamed Cortana.

"Hell yeah!" roared the Chief. He cocked his gun and a rock guitar solo blared. "Let's kick this shit! Cock loving Covenant here we come!"

He turned to leave, but tripped over Keyes body.

"Whoops."

He edged around the corpse. "Uh…"

And then he had to tip toe thru the carpeting of still twitching techie bodies. He stepped on some fingers.

"Whoops, sorry."

Finally he made to the other side, but then had to turn sideways to edge through the door so that he wouldn't bump the frame and leave scratches.

"'Scuse me."

John cleared his throat. "Right then." He proceeded on down a corridor. The sound of an incredible battle in the mess hall echoed from up ahead. Soon he came across some Covenant Grunts just outside the door. One of the Grunts was wearing a pair of human underwear. _Woman's _underwear.

The Chief laughed. "Wow, can this get any more awkward?"

He looked at the other Grunt. It was wearing a strap-on on its head.

A large, _black _strap on.

Cortana's voice popped into his mind. "They must have raided the locker room."

"Yeah, _Mendoza's _locker…room," snickered John. Then, "wait, how are you talking?"

"You plugged me into the USB port in the back of your head."

"What the hell are you talking about? USB is a dead technology. I use fire wire."

"I had the techies install an adapter while you were asleep. A lot has changed since you were frozen, Chief," said Cortana darkly. "Oh—and fire wire sucks dick."

"Whatevs," said the Chief.

He tore the guts out of the Grunts in passing and then took a plasma pistol. Now that he had the human pistol and the plasma pistol he was completely unstoppable and would never need any other weapon.

He walked into the mess hall, where a bunch of marines were getting their assess handed to them with extra cheese. Funnily enough, if you combine the taste of cheese with the taste of ass you get a flavor almost exactly identical to the taste of the food they served in that mess hall.

This time the Covenant had Elites with them, the funniest aliens ever. I mean really, how can you not laugh at those fucking things. Just take a long hard look at them and tell me they don't look like space dinosaurs. Raaggh! What's more terrifying than a T-Rex with a plasma rifle?

Bullets and plasma fire rained all around as a veteran Elite waved a severed human head in the air. "HA HA HA! YOU WILL DROWN IN YOUR OWN VISCERA!" he roared. A rookie Elite that wanted to be just like the veteran picked up a severed human penis and waved it around too. Everyone in the cafeteria stared at him. Cortana laughed like an asshole on the open speakers.

At that very moment the cafeteria's cook burst into the room, plasma burns scorching every part of his body. In one hand he held a pie that gleamed with a deadly light. He threw it like a saucer and the pie zinged towards an Elite. The alien raised his hands in horror and screamed as the pastry smacked into his face, covering his armor in mélange.

"FOOD FIGHT!

A platter of mystery meat exploded in front of the Chief, sending mysterious brown ground meat splattering in a huge splatter zone all over the place. "Shit!" the Chief dove for cover as a Covenant Elite on the opposite end of the room fired off a volley of onion rings at him, each one larger than the last.

"Auuugh!" screamed a female Marine as the nimbus of one of the larger onion rings clipped her in the side of the head, literally tearing a piece (of her head) off. She crumpled to the ground.

"You motherfuckers!" screamed another Marine, popping up from behind cover to throw handfuls of macaroni at the Covenant. A glob of yellow quik-cheese caught a grunt full in the face and it fell to the ground writhing and screaming. Nearby an entire cheeseburger had embedded itself into a red Elite's chest. An alien doctor crouched nearby, trying to remove the burger as ketchup oozed from the wound.

"I'm done for doc!" gurgled the Elite. "Tell my best girl…I love her…" His mouth slowly filled with ketchup and his eyes went dark.

"Nooooo!" screamed the Doctor. He stood, and started throwing cans of baked beans at the humans. "Filthy heretics! Take me instead! Take meeee!"

"War is serious on both sides," commented the Chief. Then he threw a hotdog like a spear and impaled the Covenant Doctor in the head. A blast of mustard and ketchup exploded from his shattered skull and he collapsed.

A nearby cry of pain caught the Chief's attention. He looked over to his right where a Marine was curled up on the ground behind a barricade made of slowly melting soft serve. "Chief!" cried the Marine. "I ate so much salty food…" he coughed. "I'm so tired. I can't move."

John crouched behind him and tried to pull him up. "Come on soldier, we'll get you some water back at base camp." But in his heart he knew that it was too late.

"The water tastes like…coke…" choked out the Marine, and then he died.

"GOD DAMN YOU COVENANT!" screamed the Chief. He whipped out his gun. "Now the gloves come off you mother fuckers!"

He fired.

Bullets of super heated, armor piercing, brass plated French Fries streamed out of the weapon as handfuls of spent casings clattered to the floor.

"Take cover!" was all a nearby Jackal managed to say before two French Fries hit him in the heart, splitting it in half. The Chief turned the rifle onto the other Covenant and started mowing them down. They died with handfuls of rock hard French Fries protruding from their chests, grease leaking out of the wounds.

The Chief cleared his throat lazily. "Today's special is me. With a side order of death."

He flipped into the air and smashed an Elite's head into the ground with both feet, splattering his brains and stuff everywhere. Then he did a back flip and kicked the headless body into a row of grunts, crushing them all. In mid air, while upside down, he extended his arms to both sides and fired two shots off to either side, each of which went through the head of two gaping Elites, respectively. The bullets each tore through their target, ricocheted off the wall behind it, and reversed course to tear through the both aliens' heart to blew up their respective spines. An Elite rushed him with a plasma rifle held like a club. The Chief head-butted him in the hand, breaking all the bones there and snapping the plasma rifle in half on his forehead. Then he did a scissors kick that tore the Elite's head off of his shoulders. While the head hung in the air for a fraction of a second the Chief turned and tapped it with his heel, kicking it over his shoulder. Then two Elites flanked him, circling in as they sprayed him with plasma fire. The Chief, still holding both his guns in his hands, rushed forwards and clothes lined them and then crossed his arms over his chest to shoot them both through the heart in passing as their bodies spun like cartwheels in mid air. As he ran forwards a grunt stepped in his path and threw a plasma grenade. The Chief bent down as the burning orb soared towards him. He picked up a dead grunt, still running, and threw the body at the grenade. The two connected in mid air and the explosive fused to the corpse. The Chief stopped, dropped back flat to the ground, and double slammed the body with his feet straight into the live grunt that had thrown the grenade. They all exploded and he shot to his feet.

Every single Covenant in the room was dead.

"I guess you're playing on easy mode, huh Chief?" said Cortana in a bored voice.

"Why yes, yes I am. I already have all the badges so…"

"Thanks for your help Chief," said a tired looking marine as he jogged up. "I thought we were done for. I was actually thinking of surrendering—can you believe that?"

"Oh it was my pleasure," said John. He picked up the severed human penis from the stiffening (lol) fingers of the rookie Elite.

"Here," he proffered the oozing phallus to the marine, "here's your dick. Or have you always been such a _pussy!_"

The Marine didn't get the 'joke.' "Not mine," he said. "Say, why are you wearing a gimp mask?"

The Chief stuffed the severed penis into the Marine's mouth to silence him and tore off the gimp mask in a hurry.

"Never speak of this again," he growled and stalked off.

"Aw. I wonder how that penis got severed," muttered Cortana with far too much interest.

"Kicked in the dick?" suggested John.

After wandering through a few very tan corridors, they came to an observation room that looked down on the cryo chamber where the Chief had first been awakened. John almost passed right through before he realized…

"Hey," he said. "The body is gone."

"What body?" asked Cortana.

"Cercil's body-" began John. Suddenly a screaming techie was flung into the window. It shattered, sending glass and blood flying everywhere. The techie was dead before John even bothered to kick him in the dick. He looked down into the chamber to see Cercil the purple Elite.

Cercil waved. His head was wrapped in bandages from where the Chief had crushed his skull. "Oh look," called the purple alien. "It's Masturbator in Chief and his purple dominatrix Whortana."

"That's Mistress Whortana to you!" shouted Cortana out of the Chief's speakers. "Chief, who is this cock sucker?"

"That's _Dr. _Cock Sucker to you young lady," retorted Cercil.

"What the fuck—"began Cortana, but the Chief interrupted her.

"Didn't I kill you?" he asked.

"Oh yeah," said Cercil. He laughed, and it was like the sound of tearing flesh. "But I clawed my way back out of hell just for you. You are my opposite, my negative, my nemesis, and I shall not rest until you are buried in the cold and damp and a thousand worms devour your flesh."

The Chief gasped. "For serious!"

"I am the anti Christ."

"Oh give me a break," retorted the Chief. "And I'm Barack fucking Hussein fucking Obama."

"You would invoke the black Jesus's name here! How dare you!"

The Chief gaped as Cercil inhaled a huge breath of air. Evil satanic light began to glow around him, motes of blood red evil floating in ever increasingly fast circles around him. The Pillar of Autumn shook as Cercil's jaw unhinged. Something dark, amorphous and evil spewed out of it!

**"SHIT FUCK JEW WAR DICK HOLE CHEESESQUINTY EYED YAM BAG WART NIGGER NOSTRIL RAPING NAIL SHITTING TERRORIST SAND NIGGER PIT LICKING GAY AIDS CUNT WAXER!"**

The Chief's ears almost exploded. "AaAAGHGGHH!" He ran out of the room and locked the door behind him, panting. His head rang and the room spun. His brain felt like it was going to explode.

"What the fuck just happened?" asked Cortana.

John threw up in his helmet in answer. Gasping, he unscrewed his helmet to let the vomit drain out. "Ah…the race hate…so strong…so offensive."

"Way to be a politically correct yuppie, Chief. Don't think I don't know about that klanner uniform you kept in your underwear drawer back on Reach." Cortana yawned. "Say, why do my biological readings on you show a human head lodged in your stomach?"

The Chief straightened up and shook himself. "Ever heard about the prostitute that gave too much head?"

"What?"

An alien fist punched through the door just beside the Chief's head. He screamed again. Cercil poked his head through the door, bumping against the side of the hole and giving himself a concussion as he did so. His eyes rolled about in a disoriented fashion.

"Heeeeree'ss…..johnyy.."

The Chief screamed for the third time that day and hit him over the head hard with the butt of his pistol. Then he ran away, because that's what heroes do. Cercil collapsed, head hanging out of the hole in the door. A steady stream of drool oozed out of his unconscious mouth and onto the very tan floor.

After that terrifying ordeal, John progressed through more well tanned corridors. Some of those corridors were even wearing naught but thongs in order to show off their tan-ness.

"Nice tan man," said John to a passing tan colored corridor.

"Thanks Chief," said the corridor. They high-fived.

"You really are bat shit crazy," said Cortana.

John privately agreed. He was worried about that brain damage from the aneurism.

Anyways, he forgot and left the cryo area and continued on through the ship. Walking through the corridors he stumbled over a busted open crate of frag grenades. "Hmm," he said. "This might be useful." He picked one up and looked at the instructions.

_Warning, _he read. _Do not allow the Marines to use this grenade._

"Huh, I wonder why it says that," John wondered. Then he proceeded on because he did not give a shit. Suddenly he turned a corner and came upon (lol) two marines standing in front of an escape pod hatch that had scripted event written all over it.

"Yeah," said the first marine, "here's a picture of my kids Terry and Brice playing with the dog. And here's a picture of my wife and her brother Greg. And here's my new car. There's grandma. Damn I love my family. I hope I don't die."

"Dude." The second marine stared at the pictures. "These are just amateur porn photos. And-hey, is that my mom? And my sister? Oh my god, is that ME?"

Suddenly, the hatch blew outwards and the marines were completely vaporized. A gaggle of grunts trotted out of the hatch. One of them saw John.

"Not again," it said in its absolutely adorable and cute voice.

John shot it in the head. A fountain of blood soared out of the wound and drowned its comrades. They died crawling in a river of blood. John tossed a grenade, blowing the entire squad into blood soaked chunks of smoking meat that in turn oozed copious gooey amounts of teal blood that rushed across the metal floor to splash against his boots in waves of sticky ichor.

"HOLY SHIT ITS A PONY!" screamed the Chief, pointing to a small horse shaped chunk of bleeding gory jiggling severed flesh.

"Hey yeah!" said Cortana. "It looks kind of like chicken nuggets, except it's dead!"

The Chief turned the corner and spotted an Elite who had not seen him yet. He whipped out a huge combat knife, twisted, and flung the knife straight into the alien's chest, pinning him to the wall.

The Elite looked down at the knife in horror and back up at the Chief, who grinned.

"Hey bozo," said the Chief. "Guess you just couldn't…_cut it._ Huh?"

The Elite's ears exploded and it died. Funnily enough, the knife had not actually pierced any vital organs.

"I'll tell you what Chief," said Cortana. "You're definitely no Arnold."

Unconcerned with this the Chief continued on and saw some escape pods. He rushed to get inside (lol) one. On his way there, McKay the Hell Jumper Captain pushed past him. John tripped her up, making her fall flat on her face just outside of the pod, and ran on ahead to the door. Inside a bunch of marines waited. Suddenly something hit John in the back of the head. Dazedly, he staggered back, his vision tunneling. It was Cercil again, a strand of drool still hanging from his mouth. He wiped his mouth and grinned at the Chief.

"Fuck!" yelled John angrily. "Leave me alone you douche!"

Cercil cackled in glee. "Sorry shoe-fucker, you won't get rid of me so easily! I am indestructible, indefatigable, and incorrigible!" There was a large lump on the front of his bald helmetless head where the bandages didn't cover. It was right between the giant fucking horns.

"At least you're not a Mary Sue, an incredibly attractive lothario who never looses and everyone respects and who also plays guitar and baseball" said McKay from the ground, conspicuously mentioning what will become a recurring joke.

The Chief looked at her. "Who're you?"

"I'm McKay," said McKay. "And I _hate _Mary Sues." She glared at Cercil, who promptly spat in her face like an asshole.

"Then welcome to hell, bitch!" he screamed. Suddenly he had a million girlfriends and every female canon character was in love with him. Also he was very tall, extremely muscular, and incredibly attractive.

Wait a minute he's a gross alien thing…

You know what? _Never mind._

"Thank Christ," said John and Cortana at once. McKay tried to get up but John pushed her back down without looking because he also happened to be an asshole.

Cercil threw his hands to the sky. Or, since they're on a ship, to the space. "Argh, my plans to become the most evil character in history are thwarted again! God damn yooou!" By the way, Cercil is a little gay boy who loves the cock.

"Fuck you author!" Did I mention that Cercil was fat and ugly, even for alien standards? Even for down's syndrome alien standards

"At least I'm still good at baseball!" Cercil pulled out a baseball bat, then stopped and stared at it. "Oh wait, this is for the children."

Cortana made gagging sounds on the Chief's speakers and McKay dry heaved.

"SHUT UP!" shrieked the purple Elite. "You must respect my raping ways!" He pulled a plasma grenade out, primed it, and tossed it into the pod that the Chief had managed not to enter since this scene began. Cercil shut the door and the pod launched, the inhabitants screaming in terror. A bright blue flash engulfed the small craft, and it was no more.

The Purple Elite had been distracted watching his own handiwork, and masturbating to it, and so the Chief was able to escape the scene mostly intact. Except of course for his self-respect.

Cercil looked over at McKay, who was just now finally getting up from the floor.

"Looks like your boyfriend abandoned you," said Cercil, getting out a chainsaw and attempting to start it up as McKay got her bearings.

"He's not my boyfriend. I don't have sex with children or people with the mental age of five, unlike some people I could name," she said, lifting her rifle.

"Oh," said Cercil, checking absent mindedly to make sure his flasher trench coat was still on, "I just assumed, you know, from the way you started to cry when he tripped you and you fell flat on your ass."

"I didn't cry!" said McKay.

The chainsaw screamed to life and Cercil raised it above his head. "Whatever. I'm gonna cut your wood, bitch! TIIIIMBER!"

Suddenly, a green blur smashed into Cercil and knocked him over. It was a lumberjack!

No, actually it was the Chief! He had returned to save the day! I guess that raises the question of why he bothered to leave if he was just going to come back, but—LOOK OVER THERE!

!

"Chief! I knew you'd come back for me!" McKay gushed, blushing. Gushing.

"Fucking called it," mumbled Cercil through the liberal helping of 'Chief's Boot' in his mouth. John rolled Cercil into a pod and shut the door. Cercil pounded on the glass, roaring obscenities that were thankfully muffled by the window.

John primed the pod and launched it off into space while shutting his ears. Unbeknownst to him, the pod he had just loaded with a ravenous villain was full of civilians. And puppies.

"You saved me," repeated McKay. "How can I ever repay you?" She arched her back and stuck her ass out suggestively.

"You're not seriously going to answer that question?" asked Cortana, being the jealous bitch that she was.

"Yeah, sure," said John, totally blowing her off because that's how he rolls. The Spartan pointed to yet another pod that was packed full of marines. "Let's get out of here," he said. "This ship is about to buy the space farm."

"Whatever you say, lover boy," said McKay flirtily. Flirtiningly? Flirtishly? God damn you Microsoft Word!

"Oh, well if you put it like that…" said John all horny like. Porno music began to play. Bow chick a wow packa wakka wakka wow. John and McKay were just about to get jiggy with it when-

"GOOD GOLLY DARN YOU FLOOZY! WHAT IN THE LIVING HEAVEN ARE YOU DOING!"

It was of all things, Captain Keyes. He stood there in the door of the escape pod, old aged features contorted in anger.

"Dad—I mean, Keyes?" sputtered John. "I saw you die!"

"No you didn't," said Keyes. He turned back to McKay. "Lord and heaven you're worse than Cortana! What's my soldier boy gonna do about post-sex-dick-itch in that armor, woman?"

McKay was about to defend herself when John totally left her in the dust by going to the pod without her. He high fived Keyes on his way through and then spotted Sgt. Johnson in the entry way of the pod.

"Sgt. Johnson mah man," said John. "Let's kick this shit old school."

They chest bumped.

Everyone in the pod crossed their arms gangster style and nodded in unison. McKay tried to get in but Keyes pushed her away. "The kitchen's that way!"

"You're a misogynistic prick, Keyes," commented Cortana. "And you're old, too, in case I didn't mention that."

"His dick don't even work," said the female pilot over the intercom. "Believe me, I know—"

"MAAAARTHAAAA!" bellowed Keyes at the Pilot. "One of these days!"

John was about to say something when a thought occurred to him.

"Why do you care about Keyes being a misogynist," he asked Cortana. "You know you don't actually have a gender. Even our relationship will never come to anything remotely meaningful and the whole romance subplot that this series has is ridiculous and creepy. And your naked all the time for some reason, I mean what the fuck."

"Oh, I forgot about that," said Cortana.

McKay was banging on the window and shouting to be let in, but she was cut off when the pod's door shut like the door to a tomb. With a blasting roar John and his pals were launched towards the Ring World, leaving McKay to die on the Pillar of Autumn.

"Damn you Chieeeeef," she screamed. She will definitely not come back as a villain, by the way.

"OMG," said Cortana. "The Autumn is accelerating! Keyes is going in manual (lol).

"I'm right here," said Keyes. "There's nobody piloting that ship."

That shut Cortana up right good. Har, har, har. Try to follow the script in HAYLO: The Parody From Hell (The Worst God Damn Idea in the World Edition) will you?

The pod's pilot steered them away from the epic space battle and towards the nearby ring world. Another pod glided by them. An Elite in purple armor waved out its window at them. Behind him they could see that the wall was covered in human blood. And puppy tails.

John flipped him off and went back to playing cards with Sgt. Johnson as Keyes yelled at the Marines about his diseases. The cards with nekkid ladies on them, because that's just how badass they are.

"Ah, I remember in my day when I performed the Keyes Loop with a ship a lot like the Autumn," said Keyes as he looked fondly at the _Pillar_ as a thousand pulsating shafts of phallic Covenant lasers penetrated it. The pod started to head for the ring world and the Autumn receded from view, into the murky depths of space.

"Keyes," began Cortana. "Firstly, the Keyes Loop was idiotic. You just went around in a circle until they got bored and left. Secondly, anything you say is automatically invalid because your dick no longer functions. I thought we had already established that."

Keyes leered. "Yeah well you know what they say, babe: 'the older the berry the sweeter the juice."

The Chief looked up from his cards. "Huh? What does that mean?….what…I…oh, no, no, AH! AHHH! !"

Everyone else on board began to scream in horror as they got Keye's meaning.

Martha the Escape Pod Pilot slammed his head against the windshield. "AUUUGHGHHHGhAHGUUGHH!"

The Chief repeatedly cramped and seized as his body rejected the images in his mind. "GUhGHUG+GUGUHGHHG—GUUGHG-HGGGJG"

Sgt. Johnson grabbed his combat knife and made to gouge out his own eyes, vomiting all over the place even as he did so. "BLaahghGHGBlahHBLAhbBLahh BLAAGHGHG BLAAAAARGGHH HHHHHSHHHPPPLURRRRrTTTTTT!"

One of the Marines shot himself in the head as he lost all control of his bodily functions. "SSSSSSSPPPPPLLLLLITITTT FFFPPPHHHTHHT PPHHHHLLLLLFFFFHHH."

Everyone in the Pod began to vomit horribly as Cortana was forced to reformat her hard drive just to erase the memories. Vomit sprayed everywhere, filling the pod and covering the windshield.

"OH GOD!" screamed the pilot through blood curdling screams and huge projectile vomiting. "We're going to crash!!" Everybody choked on the shared ocean of vomit in the pod and wished for a quick death.

Keyes looked around. "What'd I say?"

Back in the other escape pod Cercil stopped stripping the bodies of the dead marines and contacted the Covenant. His evil plans were coming to fruition.

"WAZZZZZZAAAAAPPP" he screamed into his walkie talkie.

"WAZZZZZZZZUUUUUUUUP!" replied the Commander of the Truth and Reconciliation. They stopped screaming after a moment.

"Now that we've finished the Covenant's official greeting, this is Commander Darren," said the Gold armored Elite on the other side. "Who is this?"

"My name is, um…" Cercil quickly thought of the name of his hero. "...Lexington…Steeeeeeleee?" he wheedled.

"OH MY GOD!" said Commander Darren excitedly. "Twelve inches of black power! You're sooo cool!"

"He is—I mean, I am, aren't I…_niggu._" said Cercil, trying to sound black and failing.

"What do you want?" asked Darren. "I'll do anything for my hero." Then he whispered almost inaudibly: _"Anything."_

"Yeah, well, that's good, but this bagel is _great. _SCHLEP." Cercil hung up and the chapter ended. His evil plan had been a complete success.


	3. Chapter Two 1 of 2

_Chapter Two_

**Halo**

Or

_**A Bitch is a Bitch**_

"_I'd like to Halo her Halo if you know what I mean."-Albert Einstein_

_(A/N. This episode will have a 'dicks' theme.)_

Water. It is generally agreed upon in the scientific community that water is wet. Normal measurements of the tactile sensation of wetness are inadequate to describe its unique sensation. As a wise man once said, "TIMMY GET AWAY FROM THE WATER!"

Many people agree that where there are cliffs, there was at was at one point water. People who don't agree have not done the science. Anyways, cliffs are vital pieces of dramatic scenery, but some people pronounce it scene-airy, but they are fucking stupid. Scen-airy like cliffs can provide convenient points to dispose of villains, the occasional sweeping shot, or even the back drop of action packed romantic sequences.

You can also shit off of them.

The setting is Halo, an artificial ring world created by a mysterious race called the Forerunners for the purpose of studying and containing the viral parasitic life form know as the Flood, also known as the Space Zombies. Being the geniuses that they are, the Forerunners decided to clone the Flood onto every ring world that they had (there are like, seven or something) thus spreading them across the galaxy. This insures that once some bumble fuck accidentally releases the Flood, there will be no choice but to activate Halo and wipe the entire galaxy clean of all sentient life, like a fat guy wiping his ass after eating Indian. This incredibly brilliant planning and foresight might give you an idea of why the Forerunners are now completely extinct.

Hey, how many Forerunners does it take to screw in a light bulb? Two! One to screw in the light bulb, and the other to _kill all life in the galaxy._

"We're coming in too fast," said Martha the Pod Pilot as he came in too fast into the canyon.

"You should work on your stamina," said the Chief as he continued to play cards with Johnson. They had managed to trick Keyes into eating all the vomit in a bout of alzhemiers and so had escaped drowning. "And maybe work out your dick muscles more," continued the Chief. "I hear those tantric guys can do some amazing things."

The pod shook madly as if it was in the devil's bowls.

"Yeah that's what I'd do," said a Marine as he worked on his card castle. It collapsed as some unidentified debris smashed into the Pod, making it spin in mad circles as it careened towards the earth.

"We're going to crash!" screamed Martha. "BRACE FOR FUCKING IMPACT!" The air brakes snapped.

Sgt. Johnson lit a cigarette and put his hand of cards down. The Chief gaped at them. "Who to the what now!"

"WE ARE ALL GOING TO DIE!" roared Martha the pilot as he curled up in the seat. The entire windshield showed ground rushing to meet them.

Everyone gasped, almost floored with shock.

The Chief pointed at the table. "Johnson! You got a fucking royal flush."

They hit a solid cliff wall at a billion miles per second. The Chief's body was propelled out of his seat and smashed into the side of the pod wall, breaking his bones. All of them.

He blacked out.

For a time, blackness was all that John knew. And a faint smell of cheese. Memories of warfare passed through his head as he relived his most terrible battles. This is called character development, by the way. Images of friends he had know and lost and then known against after he found them again but then lost them flashed through his mind. A sea of faces where each one was a SPARTAN that had died fight alongside him—well, actually, there weren't that many faces: it was more like a lake of faces where every face was a SPARTAN that had died so that he could live. Actually not even that many. I'd say more like a pond, a pond of faces where every face was the face of a SPARTAN who had been killed.

"I tried to save you," said the Chief woodenly. "But you all died. The guilt…is overpowering." He sat down easily on the dream-floor and started to pick his toes.

"Yes, tragic isn't it," said a voice. The Chief wheeled around. It was a giant ant, about the size of a large ant. It was standing across from him, and it looked like it was using its hind legs to do so. "Everyone you've ever known and loved is dead, Chief. And they died fighting. Fighting aliens."

DUN DUN DUN

"I know," said the Chief. "I just said that. Except I do know other people now, so that wasn't exactly correct."

"The tragic-ness is overpowering," said the ant enthusiastically, ignoring the Chief's objection.

"Fine, whatever. I didn't like those guys anyways."

It looked taken aback. "Why not?"

"They were mean. And they had names like Jack, and Jill, and Linda, and Sam. Boring names to go with boring people."

"Names like John?" asked the ant innocently.

"Yeah—wait, no!"

Suddenly Cortana's voice cut into the dream like a butter through hot knife. I mean…fuck me, never mind.

"Chief, Chief, can you hear me?" Her voice was like a piercing agony of bitchiness raping the Chief's ears. "Are you all right? Can you move?"

"Ignore her, Chief," said the ant as he threw an empty beer bottle into the pond of fallen faces. "I just popped in to check on you, make sure you still remember those 'advices three' that, um, your mom gave to you."

"I think so," said the Chief faintly. "Something about incest, right?"

"Actually that was your idea." The ant shook its head.

Suddenly the Chief woke up.

"Can you move? Are you dead?" asked Cortana. "Your brain waves were flat lining. Oh wait, they still are!"

"Of course I can move…bitch," groaned the Chief as he gingerly got his ginger bearings.

"Too bad. I was hoping you were paralyzed. Because your pain is my pleasure."

John bounded to his feet. "Yeah well I'm not, so fuck you! …Mistress."

"Jesus Christ on a cross boy, stop screaming!" yelled Sgt. Johnson as he too awoke. He was nursing a nasty head injury as well as some serious morning wood. The Chief looked at the bulge in the black Sergeant's pants with some perturbation and carefully inched away, making sure his guns were loaded; for the sergeant's spear as a weapon of such terror as the world had never seen, almost thirteen inches in length as it was.

John glanced around the pod. The only other survivors were Captain Keyes and Mendoza the small gay Mexican. Trust me though, these guys aren't going to be survivors much longer if you catch my drift.

Next week someone will have to go!

"I vote for Cortana," said the Chief chirpily.

"DID I SAY YOU COULD TALK!" screamed the holographic dominatrix.

"Mendoza," shouted Sgt. Johnson, talking over her, "get your ass over here and give me a hand. Or two."

"Sure thing," said Mendoza, who was gay as I mentioned before but also a slut. A man-slut. He promptly made a grab for Sgt. Johnson's Johnson, which was still extremely turgid.

"GOD DAMN IT!" screeched the Sergeant. "I meant bandage my head!"

Mendoza made another grab for Sergeant Sgt. Johnson's Johnson. Wow, all those Johnsons were a big mouthful.

"THE HEAD ON MY SHOULDERS!" screamed the Sergeant.

Mendoza turned away from the men and shed a single solitary tear from the rejection.

"Don't ask don't tell, huh?" said the Chief, grinning. Everyone laughed as Mendoza cried.

"I think someone getting a dishonorable discharge when we get back to earth," said Keyes jovially.

"Nooo! I have a right to serve my country!" said Mendoza. "You can't discriminate me because I dig cocks!"

"Actually it's much simpler than that," said the Chief, patting Mendoza conciliatorily on the shoulder. "You see, it's simple convenience; you can't put a gay dude in the shower with the guys because he likes men! It'd be like putting a man in the woman's showers—it messes up the whole showering thing, man."

"But I shower with you guys all the time," said Mendoza. "And…" he winked. "Nobody's complained yet."

"Wait, you're gay! GET THE HELL OFF ME!" The Chief planted his boot in Mendoza's oft-used ass and pushed him out of the pod. It made a meaty sound like when Rocky punches those dead cows in Rocky. It's the eye of the tiger, it's the thrill of the fight. Anyways, Sgt. Johnson staggered out after him, leaving Keyes and the Chief alone in the pod as the old man searched for his depends, which must have been knocked askew in the crash from the smell of it.

"Uh, sir," said the Chief to Captain Keyes. "I seriously saw you die."

Keyes ignored him. "Let's get moving soldier," he said grimly, un-holstering a pistol and putting on a fresh pair of adult diapers. John just stared at him for a minute. You probably think that he was wondering about Keyes, but actually he was imagining him as a giant pork chop; John hadn't eaten in days. Well, apart from that guy's head, but I'm never going to mention that again ever so you might as well pretend it didn't happen.

"The Covenant aren't going to kill themselves," growled Keyes over his shoulder as he left the pod. The Chief followed.

"I know, that's my job. Did I say I thought they were going to kill themselves?"

Keyes stopped and turned fully to face the Spartan. "Son. One day you'll understand what it means to lay your life on the line for something you really, truly believe in." He began to smoke his pipe grimly.

"Captain," piped up Cortana. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Granted."

"You're a drama queen."

The Chief laughed. "I agree, Dad. I mean sir."

Keyes narrowed his eyes. "I didn't give you permission to speak, Chief. Just the baby-maker. You listen to that woman too much, she's a bad influence."

"Oh I know," said the Chief. "She gives me bad advice too. Like this one time, she told me to go change in the Spartan women's locker room because they were all playing tennis, but they weren't, and I walked in there naked, and they beat the shit—"

"Shut the fuck up," said Keyes not unkindly. "But that's the problem with women soldiers; they think that just because they need to change that they have a right to their own locker room. You wouldn't believe how many floozy women soldiers I've dishonorably discharged for just that sort of vigilante justice." He beamed. "I've got quite the record."

"Wow Keyes, you really have a hard on for dishonorable discharges," said Cortana.

"What can I say; it is my honor to discharge my hard on," said Keyes.

Interestingly enough the Chief had fallen asleep at some point during the exchange, possibly half way through his own dialogue. When he woke up he jogged out of the pod to see that the others had gathered near a bridge. He looked around and saw that the valley was big, green, and had a stream running down the center. It was fairly boring. He started towards the others.

\

"I was just dreaming about that night in the locker room," commented the Chief to Cortana.

"Would you like to relive it?" suggested Cortana. "I have it on tape."

"Wow, really? Even the part with the garden shears?"

"Yep. I can't believe they fit those _all the way_ up your ass."

"Let me guess; you re-watch it all the time, right?"

Cortana laughed. "Sorry lover boy, I just can't help but enjoy watching you get hurt. Because your pain is my pleasure."

"Whatever, I got back at those Spartan bitches for what they did," said the Chief.

"I don't remember you doing that."

John grinned under his helmet. "Yeah, well you know, they all died at Reach. So that makes us even."

"Wow. You call that getting even? We _still_ haven't been able to straighten out your penis from what they did to you!"

The Chief tried to ignore her and jogged up to the three humans, who had been talking.

"Yeah, women," agreed Mendoza as his hand brushed against Sgt. Johnson's thigh. "Who needs them?"

The black sergeant absent-mindedly slapped Mendoza's hand away. "Chief! What should we do?"

The Chief shrugged. "I honestly hadn't thought about it. There's no particular objective that I have to fulfill."

"Yeah, nothing like stopping the Covenant from capturing me," said Cortana.

"Like I said," said the Chief, "there are no objectives that I give a shit about. But if you really want I could think of a plan. We could um, like, well…we could…um, well, like, maaaassstuuuurbaaaaaa—"

"I'm Captain of this boat, kid," interrupted Keyes in a super dramatic way. Everybody ignored him.

"I think we should go up the hill to look for survivors," said Cortana. "That way we'll have more people. To protect me."

"Good idea," said Keyes. "If you get stolen under my watch I might get dishonorably discharged. And trust me: it's no fun to be on the receiving end of someone else's discharging hard on."

"Cortana!" hissed the Chief. "What are you doing talking to the others! You're supposed to be _my _imaginary friend!"

Johnson rolled his eyes. "Um, Chief, Cortana is real. A real bitch, I mean!" They all laughed. "But seriously," he pointed at the Chief, "you're really stupid and you should stop talking for a while."

"Ok."

As the brave soldiers of humanity surveyed the crash site to collect weapons before heading out, an invisible fifth passenger aboard the pod plotted evilly.

_Ha, ha, ha,_ thought Oz the Stealth _**Hunter**_as he peered out from behind the pile of dead Marines and the very male and very dead pilot Martha that had spilled out of the pod. _Those fools don't even know I'm watching them._ _Ah, but how could they. I'm cloaked and invisible. Damn, how did I fit in that pod all the way down here without them finding me? They must be so stupid—oh, God, I wish I wasn't so judgmental. I mean it's not their fault is it? Maybe I'm just upset because I was chosen for the new "Stealth Hunter" program. I swear, it's the stupidest idea the Prophets have ever had. How am I supposed to sneak around anyways? I'M TEN FUCKING FEET TALL, not to mention at least five feet wide. Damn I need to work on my weight…how did I get here?_

By the time Oz had finished his captivating internal monologue our four heroes had already collected their equipment and set off across the bridge. They were soldiering along across the thin metal bridge when a thought occurred to the Chief.

"Say Johnson," he said, "I thought I'm supposed to rescue you in this level…"

"Motherfucker! I don't need no fucking rescuing," growled the black Sergeant, cocking his rifle. "I bench press five hundred, you fucking pussies! Ooo-rah! Motherfuker! Don't need no faggot rescuing."

Everyone stared at Sgt. Johnson, who broke out in a sweat. After a few minutes the Chief slowly turned to look at Keyes. "And Keyes," he said, "shouldn't I be rescuing you too?"

"I, um…" Keyes could not take his eyes off of Sergeant Sgt. Johnson's sweating, angry, over the top countenance. The aging captain cleared his throat and pointed at the black man. "Uh, what he said."

John shrugged and turned to Mendoza. The gay marine waited patiently.

The Chief suddenly screamed, "LOOK OUT ITS A COVENANT!" while looking right at Mendoza. He pulled out his pistol and shot Mendoza in the head. The crack of a gunshot rang throughout the valley. Everyone stepped back in shock as Mendoza's corpse fell off the bridge. The body of the sad gay fell into the depths of the ocean, never to be seen again.

Except for when he comes back in this very chapter.

"Let me guess; you killed him because he was gay?" asked Cortana in a bored voice.

"He was gay?" asked John. "I thought I saw a Covenant."

"I don't know which possibility is worse," Cortana mused. "You killing him because he's gay…or because you seem to be completely retarded and unable to remember anything. It was still pretty entertaining though."

John shrugged. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

Everyone else agreed and they finally got to the other side of the bridge.

The ironic thing was that the Chief actually _had _seen a Covenant; it had been Oz, sneaking along behind the gay marine! OH THE HUMANITY!

A splitting peel of roaring thunder cracked through the air. They all looked up to see an escape pod tear across the sky, trailing fire and shredding metal in its wake. I'll give you one guess as to who was in that escape pod…

That's right: Socrates and his butt buddy Plato! On with the story!

John and his posse proceeded up the hill, completely ignoring the Covenant drop ship and Banshees searching for him. Who needs combat? What is this, an action game? Oops, we accidentally broke the Fourth wall of storytelling. Time for some meta humor!

"You know what Halo needs," said John conversationally as they climbed the hill. "More interaction with the environment and enemies. Physically, I mean."

"Like what?" asked Sgt. Johnson in a bored voice.

"I was hoping I could fist some of these Covenant guys harder."

Everyone stopped again and stared at him. The Chief didn't notice and continued on. The rest of the group ran to catch up with him.

"What…like…what?" spluttered Cortana.

"Grunts, mostly."

"Chief, I'm going to restore myself to a registry backup so I never have to think about that again."

"What are you, a fucking fan girl?" laughed Sgt. Johnson. "Next you'll be talking about how sexy hot and mature Keyes's ugly old shit ass is."

"If only I were so lucky," muttered Keyes under his breath. "At least I packed extra depends." Mendoza vomited off screen, by which I mean he vomited off screen in hell, because he died and fags go to hell.

"I don't understand what's so disturbing to you guys," said the Chief. "I mean, I already fist them. I just want to fist them harder."

Sgt. Johnson's head almost exploded. "WHAT."

"Wait, hold on," said Cortana. "By fist do you mean punching them, or penetrating their anuses with your hand?"

The Chief vomited into his helmet. Again. "That's disgusting and horrible!" he screamed.

"That's what I thought," said the black Sergeant. "Boy, you really need to work on...well, everything."

Cortana switched her voice to a private channel. "Nice save Chief," she said. "I thought for sure they were gonna find you out this time."

The Chief grinned under his helmet. "I couldn't have done it without you! Good teamwork, Whortana!

They went up the hill, turned a corner, and found a large Forerunner facility. Behind it an even larger canyon stretched out, looking very boring and shitty. There was also a battle going on. A bunch of cock loving Marines were trying to hold off an advancing force of Covenant. It was a tough battle, and the only reason the Marines were still alive was because Sgt. Johnson had confiscated all the frag grenades back on the _Pillar._ Unfortunately, the Marines were still useless because they were all too busy screaming in their weird accents to be of any use.

"Edrio mingo griengo zingo!" shouted one of the Marines. Nearby a techie multiplied into four parts with a loud splat.

"Wait here you pussy faggots," said Sgt. Johnson, holding up a hand to stay everyone else as they hid behind a rock and watched.

"Why?" asked Captain Keyes.

"Because," said Johnson, turning around, his eyes flashing, "I am a man, and teamwork is for pussies!"

He charged down towards the battle.

"God damn, look at that fine nigroid worker go," commented Keyes. "I would pay him to mow my lawn _and _satisfy my whorish wife, for as we know the mandingo's manhood is one of the largest members in existence."

Everyone gasped. "Keyes…" said the Chief. "You should apologize; you've insulted housewives everywhere."

A couple yards away, Sgt. Johnson threw a frag grenade at an approaching Elite, and then spun in a circle firing his rifle in slow motion. Every single bullet hit an alien in the head, killing exactly sixty of them in the span of less than a second. The grenade he had thrown tore the head off of the Elite and made his entire body explode. Then Johnson pulled a metal poll (it came out of my ass) out of the ground (no, my ass) and impaled at least twenty-eight grunts. He kicked the legs out from under a jackal, literally, and shot the alien in the balls, then spun into the air and landed on top of another Elite to stuff a grenade into the alien warrior's pants. The Elite scrabbled frantically at his crotch and exploded in a flash of fire and, um, flame. (It came out of my ass)

Suddenly, the Chief ran up and KICKED SERGEANT SGT. JOHNSON RIGHT IN THE DICK!

"OOOOW!"

"BITCH!" slavered the Chief, "I'M SUPPOSED TO BE THE BAD ASS! WATCH HOW A REAL MAN DOES IT!"

He kicked over a little girl's lemonade stand and made her cry.

"FUCK YES!" He pumped his arms in the arm and let out an adrenaline-fueled roar that rang out through the Canyon and made a bird explode. "THAT'S HOW WE DO IT, YEAH!"

Since the Covenant are afraid of chronic masturbators they were all running away by the time the Chief was done with his little display.

"Wow, um, nice job," said Sgt. Johnson. He gave the Chief a half hearted high five.

"You saved us Chief," shouted a techie as he ran up, drool streaming out of the corner of his mouth. "What would we do without you?" He began to hump the Chief's leg.

The Chief grinned proudly and straightened his posture. "Sorry if I stole all the glory, Johnson," he said as another techie joined in the humping.

"No that's cool," said Johnson. "You can keep the glory, man."

The Marines they had saved joined them. "Hell yeah man!" said one. "You killed those ass sucking Covenant shit eaters good! Popped 'em right in their fucking holes and shit!"

"Yes," said the Chief. "Yes I did."

"God," sighed Cortana, "I can barely stand all this masculine drivel. Can't men do anything more than kill, kill, kill?"

"Yes," said the Chief. "We can also slap noisy bitches."

Cortana growled, and not in a sexy way. _Like a fucking rabid dog._ "You're hanging around with Keyes too much, Chief. He's rubbing off on you."

"Yes I am," leered Keyes as he came down the hill. (lol, but not for realz cum1 OR IS IT? Lollololololoool)

"Um," John scratched his head, trying to think of a retort for Cortana other than "Get back in the kitchen."

But the conversation was interrupted by a Pelican Drop ship flying overhead. Their radios all crackled to life at once and a very white voice came on the speakers. "Yo mother fuckers! This is Ted the Pelican pilot." They could distinctly hear Eminem in the background.

"Ted," Cortana phoned in, "get us a warthog and pick up these marines. Alsosome estrogen for the Chief." She cracked her whip again and everyone in the canyon flinched.

"Okay homeslice," said Ted.

"Stop trying to be black, kid," said Sgt. Sergeant Johnson. "We're all white here and you know it."

Everyone stared at him.

"Whatever, hater," said Ted over the radio. "I ain't frontin', nigga." He turned up Eminem very loud and the Pelican visibly shook in mid air.

The Chief shrugged. "Goddamn wiggers."

The Pelican settled to the ground and the Marines got on. The Pelican dropped a warthog and flew into the air and soared away. There was a marine already sitting in the warthog.

"HAI GUYS!" said the Marine in a strangely familiar gay voice. Everyone stared, their eyes wide and blank with shock as they stared.

It was…

SCENE CUT

On the Pelican, Ted was flying along, bobbing his head to a very white Eminem song, when he spied a bright point of light rising up towards him.

"What the hell is that, nigga" Ted mumbled. The light was getting bigger, intensifying…

The Tactical Thermo Nuclear Missile wiped the pelican out of the sky in a blinding flash of light that was seen all over Halo, vaporizing Ted the Pelican Pilot and the Marines and techies that had just boarded the Pelican.

Cercil kicked over the smoking Quick-Set-Up-TACGUN (by Walmart) and jumped up and down pumping his arms in the air like a jackass.

"Ha ha ha! Wooooooo! That ain't no fucking cheap ass Black Foot bullshit!" He looked down at the gun. "And the best part is, this was probably made by child labor!"

You guys do know that Wal-Mart is the devil's armory, right?

Unfortunately what Cercil didn't know was that there was crack in the device and the radiation from its nuclear core had given him cancer. Cancer of the dick.

Back with the important part of the story, John threw his hands up in grieful agony and screamed at the diminishing explosion in the sky: "NOOOO! TED WE BARELY KNEW THEE!"

Sgt. Johnson fell to his knees in horror. "WHYYYYYYYYY! He was a true homie after all, I never should have judged him! The streets have claimed another poor black boy!"

The Chief burst into spontaneous tears. "I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW HE WAS BLACK! Oh the humanity!"

Then they all got in the car and drove away.

"That's a big cave," said Keyes, riding shotgun and pointing at the cave that John was driving towards. "Like the mouth of hell itself, my brothers, waiting to swallow us whole. But we shall prevail."

"Jesus Christ, someone turn on the fucking radio so he shuts up." Sgt. Johnson squatted up and up down on the turret, testing out the action on the gun. He looked like a dip shit, squatting up and down like that and testing the action on the gun.

** It came out of my ass.** Oops, too soon. Let me try again later.

"This cave is not a natural formation. Someone built it; so it must lead somewhere…" said Cortana as the Chief fumbled for the radio's dial. All that would come on was Nickelback, however.

"Everyone wants to fell like someone cares," hummed Johnson. "That's soldier's music right there!"

"You're such an oreo," shouted Cortana. Johnson didn't hear her because of some convenient wind that swept back his ebony afro over his massive satellite dish ears.

The Chief went to scratch his crotch absent-mindedly as he entered the cave thing place. His hand found the crotch of the Marine that had come with the warthog (buy one get one free!), who was sitting on his lap.

What? They were out of seats.

"What's your name again?" he asked as he quickly pulled back, feeling the ecstatic hardness there.

"Mendoza, girlfriend. And I still have itch down there that you might be able to scratch."

The 'hog's tires screeched as John put the brakes on full stop.

"I FUCKING SHOT YOU IN THE HEAD!"

"No you didn't," laughed Mendoza gaily.

Everyone gaped.

"YES I FUCKING DID!" The Chief slapped Mendoza across the face. The force of the blow knocked the gay Marine out of the passenger seat and-INTO AN INVISIBLE HUNTER.

"Shit!" shrieked Mendoza and Oz the Stealth Hunter at the same time, both of them falling onto their asses. Everyone looked at them—not at Mendoza's lean, muscular ass, no sir, not at all.

"OH MY GOD IT'S THE GHOST OF BASIL HALLWOOD COME TO HAUNT ME FOR MY SINS!" John put the pedal to the metal and the 'hog zoomed away, leaving Mendoza alone with Oz.

…

"Lover, those are some big muscles," said Mendoza as he stroked Oz's bicep.

Oz kicked him in the balls. Hard.

Up ahead Sgt. Johnson used the 'hog's main gun to blow away all of the Covenant in the cave area. Cortana bitched. The Chief sprayed and prayed. Keyes shat himself. The Chief went up the ramp and activated the Lightbridge, which took him to the-JESUS YOU KNOW HOW THE FUCKING GAME GOES!

Heroic music began to play on the car stereo as they rolled up the hill, abruptly cutting off the Nickleback.

"Come on," said Cortana, "there are more crash sites up ahead. And we have to go to them, because the Marines need our help." She was trying really hard to sound like she cared. You could tell, trust me. It was touching.

"What if they get blown up again?" asked Sgt. Johnson.

"Shut up."

The Chief wasn't listening and seemed to have forgotten that he was not alone. "Dicks, dicks, I love dicks," he hummed to himself.

"So do I Chief," sniffed Sgt. Johnson from behind him in the turret, "so do I."

They enjoyed a rare moment of peace.

Cortana suddenly realized what she had just heard. "Wait, what?"

"Hey Cortana," said Keyes awkwardly into the silence. "Can you like, call a drop ship to get me. So I can leave. Now?" He eyed the Chief and Sgt. Johnson.

The black Sergeant also looked nervously at the other passengers. "Yes, can I go now too? Plz?"

The Chief kept on driving, oblivious to the awkwardness his comment had created.

"Sure thing, fags," said Cortana cheerily. She turned on the radio. "Hey. Is there anyone out there?"

There was a moment of static. The Chief kept on driving, just barely missing the edge of a cliff as he did so. Nobody noticed.

"Yo' motherfuckers!" A very, very white voice came over the radio with Vanilla Ice playing in the background. "This is Tad the Pelican Pilot! You VIPs up for some blat-blat?"

"Wow you sound really familiar," said Cortana. Everyone agreed. "Did you know Ted the Pelican Pilot, before he…_died_?"

Sgt Johnson threw up his arms and let out a scream of despair. "WHYYYYYYYYY!" Unfortunately he had to let go of the gun to do so, and he shot out of the gunner's seat and rolled and bounced on the ground as the 'hog sped away.

Nobody noticed.


	4. Chapter Two 2 of 2

"Ted was my brother," said Tad. "My brother…_from another mother_."

Cortana wanted to die. "Oh. God. Well anyways can you come pick up Keyes and…"

The Chief stood up, even though he was still driving. "OH MY GOD MY JOHNSON IS GONE."

"Don't worry so much," said Keyes, patting the Chief's thigh. "He does this all the time. He'll be back."

In the distance Sergeant Johnson flipped off the retreating car as he stopped to catch his breath.

Cortana was still talking. "Well anyways, can you come pick up Captain Keyes? The situation was getting a little too _hot _for his old wrinkly ass."

"Sure thing," said Tad. "VIP!"

He came and picked up Keyes. The Chief started off towards the second crash site. He had plenty of a ways to go to get there, since he had been driving into a wall for the past five minutes.

"Why'd Dad—I mean, why'd Keyes want to leave?" he asked as he gently steered the hog through a river and into some rocks.

"Not everyone can admit they love dicks," said Cortana sagely. "That took a real man, Chief. A real gay man."

"That's it? But why not? I'm proud of it." The Chief lifted his chin as the car slammed into a wall. "I shout it to the fucking hills. I LOVE DICKS! I LOVE TO EAT DICKS!"

The shout was so loud and proud that everyone heard it all over Halo and also in space. Even Jesus heard it, and a single tear fell from his eye.

"I do too, my son."

Back on Halo, Cercil looked up from the dead bodies he had been 'searching.' Keyes heard it as the Pelican carried him through the air. And over in a certain rocky canyon, the sound was just drowned out by another shout.

"OH MY GOD I CAN'T FEEL MY LEGS!"

Lieutenant Oreo dragged the mutilated Marine to the safety of a nearby rock as plasma fire pelted every single inch of the area except for her. Suddenly, a plasma grenade flew over the top of the rocks and landed on her helmet. Oreo tore the helmet off and threw it away, her dark raven jet black ebony midnight hair flying spreading out around her head like a moonless night halo. She also had giant boobs, and they bounced. An approaching Grunt reflexively caught the discarded helmet and was incinerated on the spot, but not before it fired a few plasma shots at her. She avoided them, but her comrade was hit squarely in the ass and died instantly from exposure. Exposure to plasma. _In the ass._

Oreo equipped her sniper rifle and sighted down the rock quarry. She spotted an approaching Elite through the scope and took him out with one well placed shot. The Elite died with a bullet through his ankle. And another bullet through his head (the one that Oreo shot.)

A gold armored elite named Commander Darren surveyed the Lieutenant through some binoculars.

"Hmmm," he smacked his lips noisily, "I loooove Oreos. Yum."

He turned to his Jackal assistant Eric and asked, "What part do like more? The chocolate outside or the creamy filling?"

"Bro, are you fucking five? Oh, and the creamy filling of course!" jabbered the Jackal, who was playing game cube.

"You fucking loser," said Darren, returning to the binoculars. "Chocolate is the shit, bitch."

"Suck my dick dude!" squawked Eric.

"I'd have to push your mom out of the way first, and she is so very fat that her weight would crack the very earth itself."

Darren cut short Eric's reply with a raised hand. "Look, look, she's aiming the rifle at _me_. Fucking humans, can't get a word in edge wise. Edge wise around all the bullets."

He traded the binoculars for Eric's shield, which he used to deflect the bullet. Eric put an Incubus CD in his sony walkman while they waited.

"Shit," growled Lieutenant Oreo, taking aim at the Jackal this time. Irritatingly, the Jackal had taken his energy shield back and deflected her second shot. Another bullet wasted. Oreo aimed at the gold armored Elite again, but had to dodge their return fire.

A shadow fell over her. She looked up. It was the Master Chief, who had parked just up the hill by the Denny's. Because every place has a Denny's.

"Master Chief?" blurted Oreo disbelievingly, her large breasts jiggling.

"Hmmm?" mumbled John, who was staring at her rack. Oreo didn't notice.

"Damn Chief," she rasped, "I thought we were all fucked."

"Oh you are, don't worry." Darren and Eric stepped around the rock, both toting plasma rifles. "Fucked…that…is…uh…" Their eyes simultaneously locked onto Oreo's chest and turned into hypnotic spinning discs.

"Uh oh, Covenants" said the Chief, pointing as he helped Oreo up, still managing to stare at her rack.

Cortana tsked in the Chief's helmet. "That's impolite to women. Bitch."

"Sorry mistress," said the Chief out loud, but nobody heard him because Oreo was talking and everyone was too focused on her rack to listen.

"Where are the other Covenant?" she asked, facing the aliens and stalling them in the true style of any action hero as she pulled a hydrogen bomb out from behind her back

Eric gaped. "Bro. They're so big. WHY ARE THEY SO BIG!"

"WHAT THE HELL ARE THOSE THINGS!" screamed Commander Darren.

THEY STARE INTO MY VERY SOUL!"

"Hey, assholes," said Oreo. "Eyes up here. Where are the other Covenant?"

"Oh," laughed the Gold Elite, wrenching his horrified stare away "it's just us and a couple of Grunts. Actually you killed all the grunts, so yeah. Also prepare to die. Your destruction is the will of the gods, blah blah blah."

Before they could shoot and before Oreo could detonate the H bomb, the Chief shot Eric through the throat. The Jackal crumpled to the ground with a womanly shriek that sprayed blood everywhere. Darren rushed to his side, his eyes turning to look through the back of his head at Oreo's rack. She rolled her eyes.

"Bro!" Eric gurgled, clutching his friend's face and tugging on his mandibles "I have something incredibly important to tell you. Listen closely."

Darren leaned in apprehensively as Eric began pinching his face at random intervals.

"Bro, you are…" began Eric.

"Special?" interrupted Darren.

Eric shook his head, flecks of blood flying out of his mouth. "Shut up, dude. Bro, you are…"

"A hero with speshul magic powers?"

"No bro, no! Don't you ever fucking shut up?" Then Eric died, blood gushing out of his torn throat.

"HA! I knew that was my secret!" Darren pumped a fist in the air. "Wait, what?"

John shot him in the throat too, and Darren's head flew off and bounced off a rock. "Ow! Motherfucker!" The smoke cleared as the Chief reloaded his gun. He spat on the body, except that he was wearing a helmet so it just kind got all over his visor. Gross.

Oreo sighed from the exertion of aiming and firing a gun and cocked an eyebrow at the Chief.

"I had things under control," she said.

The Chief stared at her. Actually he was looking at her rack, but she couldn't tell because of the visor. "

"My name is Oreo," she said.

John was about to eat her (lol _ha ha you thought that joke was over?_) with a glass of milk when a voice came (lol _again, bua ha ha ha_) over the radio.

"Hey brothers, this is Tad the Pelican pilot. Anyone need a pickup?"

"That's right white boy," said Cortana. "We just saved a bunch of Marines and these boys are itching for evac."

"Actually," said Oreo, "It's just me. Everyone else is dead from exposure. To plasma."

"We got here as quick as we could, Lieutenant," lied Cortana with a perfectly straight face…voice.

John tapped Oreo on the shoulder. "Come with me, Cookie. I might get hungry on the trip."

She eyed him thoughtfully, hoisting her sniper rifle over one shoulder. "I dunno Chief, you seem kind of out of it today. And I've heard stories about you and Marines."

"What stories?" asked the Chief as he looked at her huge gazongas. Cortana delivered a neural shock to the base of his spine and he let out a squeak of pain.

"Trust me, soldier," said Cortana on his external speakers, "The Chief is perfectly safe. He hasn't killed anyone all day. Except for Mendoza. And possibly a child. But go ahead and come with, I'm sure the Helljumper insurance plan has an entire budget just for the Chief."

"Don't listen to that leather bitch," said the Chief, walking up extremely close to Oreo and gripping her shoulder while cocking his head at a very odd angle. An ominous red light began to shine from beneath him. "I'm p-p-perfectly _saaa-a-aaafe."_

"Okay, fine," said Oreo obliviously. "Just as long as you don't try to make a pass at me," she sassed, cocking one hip. She turned, and the weight of her monolithic mammaries off-shifted the Halo's center of gravity. The Chief followed her back up to hill to where he had parked his car, trying to look at her rack through her ass.

They left together. When the sound of the hog's roar and Oreo's jiggling sounds had faded, Darren's head opened one eye.

"Are they gone?"

Eric nodded, wiping the fake blood from his neck.

"Hurry!" exclaimed Darren. "We must get to the next crash site before they do!"

"Or we could go Bret Michaels concert," said Eric seriously.

"Oh hell yes," said Darren.

"EVERY ROSE HAS ITS THORNE." Eric coughed up a bullet.

After they were also gone, Tad the Pelican Pilot settled his craft down in front of the quarry. The eerie wind of the canyon whistled around him as he opened the cockpit and hopped out. Tad was wearing a purple jersey and cargos, and he was as white as the winter snow. He strutted in a circle around the crash site, oblivious to the desolate emptiness of the world around him.

"Yo' my homies!" he shouted. "U got sum Marines to get pick-ed uuuuhhp? Who be in dis house!"

"**I AM.**" Cercil stepped out from behind a rock and hit Tad full in the face with a giant icicle.

John's hog tore up the hill, Oreo manning the turret. Or is that womaning the turret? Damn this fucking syntax! She spewed molten hot lead at the passing Covenant, utterly decimating them and spraying organs and gore everywhere. Woman's lib! John somehow did a curb slide up onto the top of the hill where the stranded Marines were. They waved and cheered right before he managed to run over all of them with his cool entrance, grinding their bones under the steel tires of the warthog.

"Thank god you made it sir," said a random Marine, just before he died as the hog's weight slowly settled onto him, crushing his spine and entire body in general.

"Holy shit!" Oreo gaped. "Chief, what the hell!"

"What? What did I do?"

"YOU JUST KILLED EVERYONE!"

"Don't worry, it was my pleasure," said John, staring at Oreo's rack over his shoulder and through the car as they got out of the hog.

"God damn it Chief stop lusting over that doughy bitch!" shrieked Cortana into the Chief's ear, delivering three electrical shocks to the Chief's testicles in rapid succession.

"Jealous, 'Tana?" simpered the Chief. His pubic hair caught fire.

"Fuck you," snapped the AI.

"Chief, you talking to yourself?" asked Oreo, checking the bottom of her boot for where she had just stepped into what used to be a Marine.

"No."

"So I guess the rumors about you were true, huh," said Oreo in a disapproving tone.

"I'm not crazy!" said the Chief indignantly. "And I most certainly do not have bondage latex fetish sex with a computer!"

She stared. "Um… I was talking about you killing Marines by accident. Ending human life without thinking or even realizing what you have done. You know, that stuff?"

"Oh. What's a 'human life?'" The Chief bent down and picked up a sniper rifle from the cold dead hands of Marine # 25. "Anyways, trust me Oreo," he said, "if you'd seen what these boys do with Frag grenades you wouldn't give them a second chance either."

Oreo un-holstered her own rifle and aimed down the hill to where some Covenant were slowly creeping up towards them. "Wait, wait," she said, talking as she shot, "what was that about latex fetish bondage sex? With a computer?"

"W-e-e-e-e-lll," came Cortana's voice over the radio. "If you guys are done here I think you should move on to the next crash site. Without talking."

"What Mistress—I mean, what she said," said the Chief.

He and Oreo shot down the remaining Covenant with practiced ease. One of John's bullets ricocheted off of a Grunt's codpiece and hit a passing Elite in the stomach, tearing him in half and sending the two halves ricocheting around the canyon for a few minutes.

Oreo laughed. "Guess the war was a little too much for him to _stomach_, huh Chief?"

John laughed so hard he crapped and pissed himself. For some perverse reason, Cortana chose that moment to be a bitch.

"Making friends I see?" she asked icily. "Would you like me to send her some pictures of your tiny rat dick?"

"You know what Cortana," snarled John, "I've had just about enough of you!" He put a pistol to his head. "This ought to shut you up for good."

Oreo tackled him shouting, "No sir!" As often happens, she and John ended up in a hilariously comical sexual position. John was actually too busy staring at Oreo's rack to notice what had just happened.

A bolt of plasma zinged past Oreo's head, and since she was helmet-less it set fire to her raven ebony midnight sanguine black hair. "ARGH!" she fell to the ground and started to roll, completely missing the opportunity to make some sort of smart sassy comment on what had just happened. Since they were on a hill, Oreo started to go down it. Remember, consistency! Suddenly she collided with an invisible Oz the Stealth Hunter, sending both of them sprawling down the hill to land in a heap at the bottom.

"Goddamn watch where you're going you crazy bitch!" yelled the huge hunter as his cloaking field deactivated. Then he clamped his hands over his mouth in horror. "Oh my god I'm so sorry I didn't mean it-"

Oreo shot him in the head, splattering his brains all over the rocks behind him. She turned to look back up the hill and saw that a Pelican had arrived to take the Marines away. Oreo squinted. It seemed to be leaking blood out of its engines.

John drove the 'hog down the hill, splattering many a Covenant corpse under his treads as he went. He parked next to Oreo.

"That's strange," said Cortana. "I don't remember calling in Tad."

"Yeah," said the Chief. "Plus they're all dead. So why is he here in the first place?"

"Sir?" the lieutenant pointed up the hill, where Cercil Saltstein was inconspicuously dragging the bodies of the Marines into the cargo bay of the Pelican. The purple Elite looked over his shoulder and waved down the hill at them.

"Time to go!" The Chief hopped into his warthog and pulled Oreo into the side seat with one hand. By her hair.

"Ow! My ebony…black hair! Ow." Oreo massaged her scalp. "What the hell is your problem, Chief."

"Cover your ears. This is gonna rip!" advised the Chief as he turned the key in the ignition. The engine fizzled out. "Fuck."

"No, no," said Cortana, "listen very carefully."

Above them on top of the hill they heard the faint sound of somebody screaming expletives at the top of their lungs.

"WHY WON'T THIS FUCKING ASS RAPING PIECE OF CUM CHUGGING SHIT CAR START LIKE AN ASS COCK!"

"Well that wasn't so bad," said Cortana.

"That was me," said the Chief.

"Covenant six o'clock!" said Oreo, leveling her rifle at the approaching alien and firing off a few shots.

"Well it's already seven," said the Chief, checking his watch. "So we don't have anything to worry about until tomorrow morning, right?"

Cortana groaned in palpable agony. "_Behind _us."

The Chief looked. "Oh. Of course."

"HEY GUYS!" ejaculated Cercil at top volume as he charged towards the car waving a sword made of human penises.

"OH SHIT!" the Chief slammed on the gas, almost splitting the entire car in half lengthwise. The car gave an angry burp and started, sputtering and puttering like a deaf retard or something equally insensitive. The car's TYRES squealed and it shot off down the valley.

"I'll get you Chief!" screamed Cercil, throwing something after them. "And you're little, um, dog…uh, FUCK YOU."

"Well that was close," said the Chief as he drove towards the final area. A dick flew through the air and bounced off his helmet. Oreo reached out with lightening reflexes and caught it. Then she dropped it and screamed.

"Nice lightening reflexes," said the Chief as he somehow managed to drive into two walls at the same time, "you're not a half-bad fighter and all-bad pun maker, Cookie."

"Thanks, sir. And my name is Oreo—sir."

John considered taking a bite out of her delicious chocolate and sugar paste self; but decided better of it because he needed milk first.

"Um, Chief," came Cortana's voice. "You do know that she's not really an oreo cookie, right?"

John hit the breaks so hard that he rammed the pedal through the floor, breaking the breaks. Another pun. Or maybe our first pun, I don't remember. Whatevs. He grabbed Oreo bodily and flung her from the vehicle, then dismounted to shove a pistol into her face.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU!" he roared, screwing the barrel of the gun into her forehead.

"Lieutenant Oreo you stupid son of a bitch!" she struggled to get away, but she was no match for the Chief's retard strength.

"YOU LYING BASTARD!"

John pulled the trigger. Fortunately for Oreo, he had forgotten to turn the safety off. This gave Oreo time to reconsider her claim.

"Well, Oreo isn't really what they call me. The Marines in my squad used to call me Ori Yushibi Honego."

Cortana piped up through John's external speakers. "They made fun of you for having an Asian name? Boys will be boys, I guess."

Orh Hei Oh looked confused. "No," she said, "it's because I really love Oreo Cookies. That's just the Marine accent, you know."

"Oh, right."

That was enough for John, who had been about to drop a primed frag grenade down her shirt. "So you are a cookie after all, then. I don't see what all the fuss was about," he said, throwing the grenade over one shoulder. It just so happened to bounce off Oz the Stealth Hunter, who had had to have major brain surgery since their last encounter. The grenade blew up directly in front of Oz, severing half his limbs including his head. His mangled corpse flew over the edge of a cliff and into nothingness.

"Shiiiiit!"

John and Oreo came upon (lol) a small Forerunner facility, around which Covenant and Marines were battling fiercely.

"Kill the humans," said a red Elite named Ignus. "Kill them with fire." His voice was a lot like Jack Nicholson's voice.

"Yes," said a blue elite who sounded like Gollum. "With fire. Yes. The world is waiting to burn."

"Wow, this is getting really creepy," said a nearby Grunt.

Ignus pointed at him. "Heresy! Burn him!"

"As you say," chuckled the blue Elite, whose name was Anga. "Burn, heretic. Burn forever!" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a tab of unlit matches, which he threw at the Grunt, whose name was Bob.

The matches bounced off his face and Bob flinched. They had absolutely no effect at all, what so ever.

"Hey," said Ignus as he looked around. "Where did all the humans go?"

At that very moment the Chief's warthog slammed straight into the three of them, completely pulping their bodies with a juicy crunching sound. He stopped the car and sent the wheel's spinning, spraying a fine paste of mixed alien guts out over the edge of the nearby cliff. The car bounced and clunked as chunky bits got jammed in the wheels. Finally the Chief stopped the car and looked over at Oreo, who had been using the gun in the back. She was covered in blood.

"I like your new look," said the Chief, staring at her bloody tits.

"Somehow I'm not surprised." Oreo looked like she wanted to die.

Suddenly a bunch of Marines ran up. "Guys, you saved us! Mi adrimo domingo amigo!"

"Glad I could help," said the Chief. He shook hands with all the Marines.

Oreo watched in amazement. "Wow, Chief. I'm impressed. You managed not to kill everyone."

"Shhh," he said. "Don't let the Mexican workers hear you talking, they'll get confused."

Oreo's eyes crossed. "Okay, never mind."

"Stay here Marines," said Cortana. "I'll call in yet another drop ship to come get you."

"Make sure it's not Tad," said the Chief. "Because I think the alien Anti Christ killed him with an icicle and then stole his ship to go around collecting the severed penises from all the dead bodies."

"Don't be ridiculous," said Cortana. "Where would he get an icicle? It's the middle of summer!"

"Cortana!" groaned the Chief. "Did you even listen to me! We're not even on earth, how could there be summer here?"

They proceeded down into the facility while the other humans waited outside for the ship. Inside the strange alien building they found the bodies of Marines and Techies.

"That's weird," said Oreo. She kicked a dead Techie that had been in the processes of mitosis before death.

"What?" asked the Chief.

Oreo pointed. "Looks like his dick has been cut off."

The Chief grabbed her arm and sniffed the air. "Wait…I think Cercil is around here. I can practically smell him."

Oreo looked down at the rotting cock.

"Nice instincts, Chief."

SUDDENLY THE COVENANT ATTACKED. "Enemy! Here!" A Grunt rounded the corner and fired a few plasma shots at them before being bullet raped by John. Suddenly, an Elite rounded that very same corner and charged them.

"RARGH!" roared the Elite as he did a melee attack. John just Bull-True'd him and kept on truck'n. Then he stopped and turned to grin at he corpse.

"Hey pal…sweet dreams," he said to the oozing body.

Cortana groaned. "Wow, Chief…that was just…the worst shit ever."

"Here, take a look at this," said Oreo, picking up the cardboard sign that the Grunt had had stapled to its back. On it was the phrase, "LEMONADE UP AHEAD!"

The Chief grabbed her arm and sniffed the air. "Wait…I think Lemonade is around here. I can practically smell it."

Oreo looked at the sign that said there was lemonade around there.

"…Nice instincts, Chief."

"I am so fucking hungry."

John and Oreo looked at each other. Or more accurately, Oreo guessed that John was looking at her. He was actually asleep. He dreamt of cutting Oreo in half with a butter knife, gutting her, and dipping the two halves in milk whilst he rolled her insides into a big ball of frosting.

"Uh, Chief?" asked Oreo, blushing because he thought he was checking her out.

"Creamy center," mumbled John, moving on into the next chamber of the building. They walked over a bridge that crossed a very small chasm. Large sperm shaped bolts of blue light shot up from the depths and out through the roof in regular intervals.

But that wasn't the most mysterious and incomprehensibly mysterious thing they found in that dreaded place, oh no, for when they got to the other side they came face to face with a lemonade stand. With a big purple Elite standing behind it.

"Lemonade, lemonade, you cock sucking ass faggots," sang the purple Elite in sing-song voice. "Who wants some lemonade? Lemonade! Don't forget lemonade! Fuck shitter!" His pupils were dilated. There were also bandages on his head, and he was wearing a fake mustache.

Oreo examined one of the cups dubiously. "This doesn't look like lemonade," she said to the purple Elite. "It looks kind of like Grunt semen."

The Elite stared at her. "Wow, you're breasts are huge. It reminds me of a song, by Zimmer's Hole. It goes like this."

He began to sing in a falsetto so terrible that it tore a hole in reality.

"FUCK my aching tits, until they give MILK. FUCK MY ACHING TITS, until they give milk. PHUCK my aching TEATS, UNTIL THEY GIVE MIIIILK."

"OH MY GOD SHUT UP!" Cortana shouted at him over the radio as Oreo self consciously tightened her combat bra.

The purple elite laughed at her. "It doesn't help at all, you fucking cow. Why don't you go back to _Darigold_ where you came from?"

Oreo bit her lip and started to cry. The Chief did not seem to notice. "You seem really familiar, what with the annoyingness and all," he said. "Do I know you?"

"No," said Cercil. "You don't."

The Lieutenant wrinkled her nose as she wiped her eyes. "What's that smell?" she wondered.

The Elite looked at her. "Dicks."

"Oh my god!" interjected the Chief. "I love dicks! I'll have two, please." Oreo's jaw hit the floor with an audible clang.

"Of course," said the Purple Elite. He reached into a hot box and took out two foil wrapped Dick's Barbeque Burgers.

"Oooooh," said Cortana, finally understanding.

"That'll be ten thousand dollars," said the Elite. "And your firstborn."

The Chief watched him owlishly as he smeared the burgers all over his face plate. "Sorry bro, I forgot my wallet." He looked over at Oreo. "Can you pick this up for me, babe?"

The purple Elite's eyes flashed with psychotic rage, but then he offered a cup of lemonade to Oreo.

"I'm sorry I was so fucking rude earlier. Lemonade on the house, my dear cow-whore?" he asked sweetly, big cute hearts in his eyes. Hearts with cancer AND AIDS.

LOL.

"Uh, sure." Oreo took the cup. "Actually, this still looks like Grunt semen."

"It's poisoned!" screamed John. He knocked the cup out of her hand and it splattered all over his chest plate. Then he started signing Alice Cooper. "Poison running through my veins, I don't want to break these chains!"

Oreo stared at him, then at the lemonade splattered all over the floor. And his chest. "I don't get it. Like you think he put drugs in the, uh, lemonade?"

"Well drugs are good," said Cercil. "But this gun is great! SCHLEP!" Then he pulled out a fuel rod cannon MADE OF DICKS. John and Oreo turned in slow motion.

"NOOOO!" screamed Oreo, running and jumping in front of John, even though it would do absolutely no good at all.

Cercil was about to fire the dick gun, completely obliterating John and his cookie, but suddenly an armored fist clamped down on the cannon. Cercil looked 'round confusedly.

It was…

SERGEANT SGT. JOHNSON

Johnson smirked as Cercil gaped at him. "Why don't you take your Dicks and shove them up your ass."

He punched Cercil full in the face. The Evil Elite stumbled backwards, slipped, and fell off a convenient cliff. His purple form vanished into the darkness, leaving Oreo, John, Sgt. Johnson, and some dramatic music.

"!" screamed Cercil as he disappeared into the depths, never to be seen again.

Except for in the very next chapter.

"Good to see you Sgt. Johnson," said the Chief. "I knew he was collecting dicks for something. I guess now we know, huh?"

Cercil's anguished cries could faintly be heard from the pit. "My ankle! Ow!"

"I know right," said the black Sergeant. "By the way, the drop ship is outside. Tom the Pelican Pilot was right on call." Then he pulled down his pants and said, "It's a good thing that this cliff is here, because I have to shit like a mother fucker."

Cercil screams from below intensified perhaps ten fold.

The Chief threw his hands up in the air. "!"

A few moments later, John and Lieutenant Oreo were blasted out the door by a shockwave of brown energy. Luckily for them, they careened straight into the waiting arms of a Pelican drop ship that was about to take flight.

"That was invigorating," breathed Cortana. "Black men are so exotic."

"Whose black?" asked Sgt. Johnson as he hoisted himself into the Pelican, ebony muscles flexing. Oreo and Cortana sighed.

"Oh nothing…Johnson…" said Oreo.

"Hey, look at me," said the Chief, waving a hand in her face. Oreo ignored him and batted her eyelashes at Sgt. Johnson, who was too busy lighting a cigar to notice.

"Damn," sighed the Chief, "I don't think I'll ever understand women."

Oreo laughed. "It's not your fault, Chief. You're just kind of a retarded bastard."

"Yeah," Cortana put in. "He was retarded before, but now I think that stroke melted his brain. But he was always an asshole."

The Chief puffed out his chest. "I AM THE HERO OF HUMANITY"


	5. Chapter Three 1 of 2

_Chapter Three_

**or**

_**Peeeeeeeeenus**_

"_I'd like to Truth her Reconciliation if you know what I mean."-Gandhi_

_(A/N: This episode will have a racism theme.)_

Cliffs. It is generally agreed upon in the scientific community that cliffs were already covered in the last chapter. Normal intelligent supposition is inadequate to describe how annoying these paragraphs are.

It's times like these when I remember the words of a mentor of mine. He went by the strange, foreign name of 'wtf', and he came from a place known as 'the interwebs,' first founded by Jesus Chrysler For many a day I toiled away at his small farm house, hoping to be in the same general area as him on the rare occasion that he would recite a classical bit of wisdom for me to cherish. I could go on about the many days and nights I spent there, toiling away on the farm, just hoping that he would speak to me. But there's a saying that says 'when the student is ready, the teacher will appear,' and I could not agree more; for one day I lost my temper and began to yell at the kind sage. He turned to me, his whiskers a flutter, and said: "My son. You come here for the wrong reasons. You should work on the farm for the joy of working on the farm, not for my wisdom alone. Working hard on the hard work at the farm is its own reward." At first I did not understand, but as I worked shoveling horse shit, I began to understand how rewarding shit really was. And so it was that, on my twenty first birthday, the kind sage imparted these words of wisdom to me: "What the fuck; this is getting stupider and stupider. Way to go." At first I was shocked; I did not understand what that could possibly mean. But then I did, and indeed even now as I sit in my mother's basement masturbating to anthropomorphic Pokemon, I believe that I just might have begun to grasp but the tinniest fraction of his great wisdom. And so I leave you my friends, hoping that you too will partake of his wisdom and the good life it will bring you, as it has me; the life of scouring for someone to _finally _make a slutty Pidgie fursona.

Well anyways,

A Pelican drop ship ripped through Halo's blindingly bright night that was incredibly easy to see in. Inside were; Master Petty Orificer John 'The Chief' Bieber, Purple Dominatrix AI 'Whortana', Lieutenant "The Foil Character" Oreo, (black) Sergeant Sgt. Johnson, and a bunch of disposable Marines (pull tab before using.) Mysteriously, Captain Keyes had disappeared after the second level because he was supposed to be captured and now they were going to go rescue him. Oh shit ,plot holes! The first of many to come, I assure you.

Cortana recited the mission briefing very loudly. "The drop ship that Keyes got on in the last level was shot down by the Covenant. They managed to capture Captain Keyes, and are now holding him in a ship known as the Truth and Reconciliation."

"Nice save Whortana," said the Chief. "I was wondering where my keys went."

"How many drop ships do we have on Halo anyways?" asked Oreo. "Didn't we go through like, _five_, in the last half hour?"

"It's better not to question the purple lady that lives in your head," said the Chief to her.

Oreo rolled her eyes, and her breasts; they had hit some turbulence. "Oh, right. Of course."

"Because," continued the Chief without listening whilst staring at her breasts, which were-if I have not already mentioned it—moving and also very large, "if you do she whips you. With a riding crop."

"Hmph." Johnson crossed his arms. "No self-respecting man would let himself get ordered around like that. You've just lost your man-cards Master Chief. I hope you're _happy_."

"Oh no," said the Chief as his man cards flew out the bay door. He reached for one, but it was snatched away on the fleeting wind and flitted into the impenetrable darkness of the night. "Nooo!" he cried. "They had naked ladies on!"

"What the hell happened to my royal flush?" barked the Marine sitting next to the Chief. He looked around angrily. The Spartan whistled nonchalantly.

"Chill out Marine," said Cortana. "The Chief will buy you a new deck of cards with nekkid ladies on when we get back to earth. If you're…_still alive._"

Everyone laughed, except for the Marine who was still angry. "Puta de madres!" he shouted, and went to sulk into the corner, never to be mentioned again.

"Touch down, niggas. You kick that shit old school, aight!"," said the pelican pilot as the pelican slammed into the earth in a manner so loud and earth shatteringly violent that every living being on Halo was instantly aware of their presence and exact location. "

"Still a wigger I see, Tom?" asked the Chief. "And apparently your asian too because you _can't seem to drive the fucking god damn car._"

"Chief," began Cortana. "you're one to talk. And…we're in a _plane_."

"The fuck?" came the very white voice over the radio. "You're a hater, 'Masta' Chief!"

"Why yoooou! NOBODY HAS THE RIGHT TO ACCUSE ME OF RACISM!" yelled the Chief loudly, Sergeant Johnson standing right next to him.

"We don't have time for your stupid shit, Chief," said Cortana. "Let's just go. We can't allow the Covenant to…um…have Captain Keyes for any longer."

"Fine. Let's go." The Chief cocked his rifle.

The Pelican's bay door slowly _stretched _open, as if perhaps it was the gaping anus of some metal god of war about to deliver his brown children. Of war. Then it spewed out the soldiers like bastard devils out of hell.

"Okay jar heads," shouted Sergeant Sgt. Johnson, waving some keys in front of John to get his attention. "We're here to board a Covenant ship named the Truth and Reconciliation. These Covie savages have kidnapped Commander Keyes, and we're gonna get him back. We're gonna blow a hole straight to china through these alien savages! We will fight terror with terror!"

"Ooorah!" shouted all the Marines at once. Coincidentally they all had shaved heads, white skin, and southern accents.

"I think James Cameron is writing this story," said Oreo sagely. "It has all the tell-tale signs; military stereotypes, idea-stealing, and sex with aliens."

You guys be sure to read my next story, _Dancing with Grunts_, okay?

"Maybe we should focus on getting to the old fart instead of blowing him up, alongside the Covenant guarding him?" asked Cortana.

"I knew it! Keyes is a traitor," growled the Chief, walking out of the shadows from behind a small pallid shrub.

"How did you get over there?" asked Oreo. "And how the hell did you get that retarded idea?"

The Chief ignored her. "Why else would he be hold up in a Covenant ship? But this is the day the lies end once and for all. And to think I trusted him, to think I loved him-" he held back a sob. "_Like a father._"

The Marines looked at each other with raised eyebrows.

"This is so going on YouTube," said Cortana as the Chief tried to wipe away manly tears through his visor. "Wait, I mean…Chief, Keyes is a captive. Not a traitor."

The Chief stopped. He scratched the back of his armored neck. "A captive? Like in Guantanamo bay?"

"Damn right, pussy boy," said Sgt. Johnson as he herded the Marines into formation. "Except I don't know if the Covenant have access to panty-hose-on-head technology." He looked darkly off into the darkness. "If they do…then _god help us all_."

"So how many times do you think Keyes has been raped?" asked the Chief abruptly. "I am very concerned."

"I'd say eleven," said Cortana, tallying up some just recently broadcasted internet videos. "I think _Hunter Anal 5 _with Lexingolo Steelo, eleven inches of power, was the best one so far, although the production values on _Gay Grunt Gangbangs _were definitely the most impressive. Commander Darren really knows how to film a bukka-"

"Moving on, please," said Oreo. She then stuck her head out over the cliff side and vomited.

"Oh, right." Cortana cleared her non-existent throat. "My download was almost done too! Anyways, Chief, let's get going. There's a ridge up ahead; use it to snipe. Sergeant, you and the Marines wait for the Chief's signal."

"Edmiriggio gringans!" commented one of the Marines. Johnson slapped him.

"What will the signal be?" asked the black man. "A bird call? A code word? Screams?"

"Don't worry," said the Chief as he pushed an eleven inch bullet into the chamber of his sniper rifle and pulled back the bolt, which was itself literally five feet long. "You'll know it when you hear it."

He turned and jogged between two very labia like cliffs, which in retrospect looked like mother earth's sloppy taco. Anyways, he went low and snuck up the side of the rocks and onto a ledge. Unfortunately the ten foot barrel of the giant sniper rifle slung over his shoulder easily gave away his position behind a very large, messy bush. But fortunately for the Chief, almost all the Covenant below him were too busy making drug deals and trading sexual favors to see him. Rap music played from a boom box in the corner as an Elite lifted weights while sitting on a bench. He had an undershirt on. A hunter walked past the scope with a jackal holding onto one of his inside out pockets.

"It's like that gay prison from the _Telephone _video," nattered the Chief excitedly. "Call all you want, but there's no one home," he hummed. "And you're not gonna reach my telephone." Then he got up, put on short shorts and busted a shitty dance move just like Lady Gaga would.

What a man.

"I had no idea that you were such a huge fucking faggot," said Cortana in the silence that followed.

"Lady Gaga is a princess!" shrieked the Chief very loudly.

A dozen yards away Sergeant Johnson's large ears perked up. "That must be the signal, boys!" he bellowed at the Marines, most of whom had busied themselves trading sexual favors whilst simultaneously making drug deals.

"Attack!" said the black Sergeant, charging into the clearing. The Marines dropped what (and who) they were doing and ran after him.

"Viva la irremego gringos!"

"NO!" shouted Cortana over the radio. "God damn it why can't any of you testosterone charged shit flinging man-apes ever stick to my fucking plans?"

"Your plans are boring!" snapped the Chief as he began firing the rifle. The sound was like the hammer of Zeus exploding a melon keg full of explosions. Some Covenant had engaged the Marines, but a few had spotted him as well. The Chief grinned as a few grunts began to run for cover. He leveled the six foot barrel of his sniper rifle to aim at the fleeing aliens.

"Mmm," he murmured "I can see everything. I'm GOD!"

He started shooting, snuffing out his targets with single perfect shots to the head. Not a bullet was wasted, a single precise gout of gore spurting into the crystal clear night air with every shot. The sound of the sniper rifle drowned out the screams of his victims, hammering like a deadly battle drum that split the night air with lightening intensity. After the last target had fallen, John stood up and raised his arms into the air to scream,

"Remember Reach!"

There was a long, long silence.

"Goddamn it Chief," groaned Cortana.

"What?" John looked around.

He had been shooting the Marines instead of the Covenant. The entire squad was wiped out except for Sergeant Sgt. Johnson and Oreo, who were looking around nervously at the Covenant warriors that had surrounded them.

"I guess I shouldn't have expected anything more from you, Chief," said Cortana. "But…at least they didn't get a chance to use grenades."

"Oh my god," said the Chief in horror. "What have I done?"

Oreo looked up at him hopefully, perhaps believing that he had somehow developed a conscience.

"_I_ haven't even used grenades yet!" said the Chief exasperatedly.

Oreo grimaced as the Covenant began to close in. A Jackal leered suggestively. She thought it was leering at her, but it was actually looking at a grunt behind her. "Uh, Chief?" she called out. "Little help—"

"You pussy ass motherfuckers want a piece of me!" bellowed Sergeant Johnson, roughly pushing her aside to face the Covenant. Everyone flinched. He stuffed a cigar into his mouth, lifted the barrel of his shotgun to his face, and pulled the trigger. A lions roar split the silence and a few grunts dove for cover. Ten thousand shot gun pellets tore into the night sky, and a single fiery one caught the edge of his cigar. It flared and caught, and he took a few puffs. A single powder burn marred the black Sergeant's cheek.

"Well…." He removed the cigar and puffed a single ring of smoke into a red Elite's face as shot gun pellets rained down around them. "Give it your best. Mother. Fucking. _Shot_."

As one, the Covenant's fingers tightened on their triggers.

"'Scuse me Johnson." The Chief shouldered past him and threw a live grenade straight into the ring of Covenant.

A shockwave of pure nuclear energy erupted from the earth dead center amongst the Covenant, tearing dirt and stone and flesh apart in a bulbous curl of flash ignition that reached into the night air for a single lightening second.

There's lots of lightening in this chapter.

The sound the blast made was like the death of a hundred suns. Blood and chunks of flash fried meat splattered all around the blast zone, covering everyone and everything in a rainbow of viscera. A pall of smoke settled over the scene as the liquefied remains of the enemy oozed down into the smoking, gaping crevice in the earth that the blast had left.

"The most balanced weapon in the game," said the Chief, grinning under his blood soaked helmet as a torrent of alien blood cascaded over his face plate to pool in lock thick coils of coagulating gore at his filth caked boots—

I mean…there was some blood.

"Man," said Johnson. "You stole my fucking thunder, Chief."

"I don't steal thunder," said the Spartan. "I _make_ it."

Oreo almost immediately had an orgasm from the awesomeness.

"In my pants!" snorted the Chief. Then he laughed like a retard.

"Yeah, what a hero," yawned Cortana. "Do you want me to show you the video where he shot all the Marines to death not five seconds ago? It's no trouble; I'm going to re-watch it anyways. With the door locked. Alone."

"It was still pretty impressive," said Oreo. She gave the Chief a light hearted punch on the shoulder. "I guess I owe you one, huh Chief?"

"No need to repay me," he said. "I didn't do it for a reward. I did it…_because it was what I had to do. _To get a reward!_" _He turned without another word and marched up the hillside.

"Damn," said Sgt. Johnson. "That man is man. He may be stupid. But he is a man."

"Kind of," said Cortana over his radio. "I've got pics before and after the operation. Wanna see?"

"Maybe," said Oreo interestedly.

"OH SHIT, well, seeya!" Sgt. Johnson turned and marched hurriedly away.

"What? I was just kidding!" Oreo laughed as they set out to follow the Chief. As soon as they turned the corner, however, they found that he was waiting for them curled up behind a rock.

Johnson stared. "Uh…Chief? Something wrong?"

The Chief looked up, his body quaking. "Johnson. I'm afraid of the dark. Could you hold my hand?"

"Aaaaand there go your man-cards again," said Johnson, throwing a deck of Mr. Yuck brand cards over the cliff side. Oreo visibly deflated and possibly even dried up, but I'll leave that to your imagination.

"I'm glad to see things going back to normal," said Cortana. "And that you've been taking those female hormones, Chief."

"I'm a good little girl."

"You're fucking insane, that's what you are." Sergeant Sgt. Johnson hoisted the Chief and firmly grabbed the Spartan's hand. "Now, let's talk the steps up two at a time."

"I can't see," complained the Chief.

"Use your night-vision—" began an exasperated Oreo.

"Close your eyes," interrupted Cortana. "It will help your sight adjust. To the darkness."

"You know Sergeant Sgt. Johnson," said the Chief as he disengaged from his friend and felt his way blindly through… the darkness. "It seems like everything we do becomes really dramatic. Almost like a Micheal Bay movie."

"It's just Sergeant to you," said Johnson as he gently steered the Chief away from THE CLIFF. "Besides, that's complete grade A bullshit, soldier. This is a serious, gritty war we're in, and you better believe it."

A bunch of grunts appeared around the corner. John turned quickly to the Sergeant. "…Token black friend," he grated. "Go on…WITH OUT ME!" Then Chief rushed forwards and tackled them, at the same time igniting two plasma grenades. "REMEMBER REACH!" he screeched. He also laughed at death, saved his girlfriend, and stayed behind to activate the bomb.

"What do you mean 'black?'" asked Johnson.

Suddenly the two plasma grenades exploded, frying the Chief's shields and somehow making Sgt. Johnson's skin slightly more black—which, believe me, wasn't very hard. Oreo came up the side of the cliff and observed the charred and bloody remnants of the grunts. She gagged on the stench of putrid burned flesh. "What the hell happened here?"

"Megaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan fox!" hooted the Chief. He and the Sergeant high fived.

"That doesn't make any sense," said Cortana.

"It did in my head," said the Chief proudly.

But little did they know that up in the Truth and Reconciliation, Oz the Stealth Elite awoke to a dark room. Well, technically it wasn't actually dark as in…the darkness… because he could see everything. But he could tell it was dark, trust me.

"Good to see you're finally awake," said a voice from the shadowy shadows which were actually dark. "Are your memories intact?"

"Huh?" Oz scratched his head, which had large stitches down the center, even on his helmet. The last thing I remember is getting shot in the head." He paused. "Actually, the last thing I remember is being blown in half and thrown off a cliff, after getting shot in the head."

"Both those things happened, but that's not important right now."

Oz gazed into the darkness. "But how did I survive?"

"Oh fine. It's really quite simple," said the voice, coming closer. Oz caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure off to his right. "I simply…sold your soul. To the devil. And now you are a zombie."

"Wow, thanks," said Oz sarcastically, glaring about the dimly lit and actually dark room. "Why don't you just replace my organs with petrified dinosaur shit and transplant my bone marrow with hobo semen? I think I'd appreciate that _more_." He stood up off the table. "Where the hell are you?"

"Stop right there." Now it came from behind (lol.) Oz turned. A thin, spindly figure stood just outside of the light. "Oz," it said. "My son—or, my zombie. Whatever. You must go down to the Halo, and find the one they call Cercil Saltstein—or failing that, the one they call the Slurzy McNecrophilia."

"Why? And who are you?"

"You can call me Alistair," said the mysterious figure, twirling its antenna. "Alistair Conley."

"Antenna?" Oz peered at the shape. "What the hell are you? And what the hell kind of name is that?"

"Never mind that," said Conley hurriedly, shadowed eyes flashing. "You must find Cercil, because I sold your soul to his father and that means he owns you. For all eternity."

"Wow." Oz casually activated his fuel rod cannon. "Like I said before, thanks a lot." He aimed the cannon. "Let me give you a token of my appreciation."

But by that time the mysterious man was gone, leaving behind only an amused laugh and the smell of milky farts. I mean, a mysterious scent that will become important later. It was much like that of jasmine.

And back with the important part of the story…

"Guys, lets sneak up this cliff side," said the Chief as they crept along in the shadows of the cliff side, sneaking up towards the Covenant.

"Okay," said Oreo. "Good idea."

"SHHHHH!" hissed the Chief so loudly that it almost caused an avalanche. "WE ARE SUPPOSED TO BE SNEAKING!"

They came to a corner around which the Chief peeked, whilst his friends lined up behind him in something of a conga line. There was nobody else with them since they had not yet restocked on Marines. The Covenant up ahead were too busy trading drug favors while making sexual deals to notice the Chief's huge helmet sticking around the corner. The paint on his armor was a very bright neon green that illuminated everything.

He saw a red Grunt talking to an orange Grunt, both of them awash in booger green light.

"I still can't believe you hid that KY Jelly in my locker," said the grunt to his friend. "It took _days_ before they would let me in the men's showers again."

"Shh! Do you hear that?" the orange grunt snarled, glaring around. The Chief jumped hastily back, flatting his back against the cliff side in the shadows of the cliffs that were on the side of the cliff. His friends waited with baited breath as they crouched there, sweating profusely. On the side of the cliff.

"Its…it sounds like…" the orange grunt slowly turned in the direction of their hiding place. Sweat literally poured off of the humans in copious amounts. A huge pearly bead dripped from the end of Johnson's large nose and drooped slowly, almost reaching the ground before it disconnected and plopped into the dust, creating a puddle that was almost vast enough to reach crush depth at its very bottom.

The Chief and Oreo stared at him in horror.

Suddenly, the orange Grunt suddenly screamed at the top of his lungs "IT'S THE GAY MOBILE!" The humans jumped in unison and almost fell of the side of the ledge as the other Covenant in the area laughed at the red grunt and pelted him with KY jelly. Slowly, carefully, the Chief and company relaxed their collectively vice-tight sphincters.

"Thank god for gay jokes," said Johnson, and crossed himself. Because all the bad-asses are catholic.

The Chief also crossed himself. With an x. On his forehead. Then he peeked around the corner, again, and saw that there was a strange looking triangle shaped object hidden behind a tree. It was just past where a blue Elite was vigorously scratching his own crotch.

"What's that?" the Chief asked Sgt. Johnson, pointing.

"Probably herpes," whispered the black Sergeant. "It completely breaks your game, if you know what I mean."

"No, the Covenant use protection," said Cortana. "Why, in _Gay Grunt Gang Bangs 4—"_

Oreo began to turn green. I mean, greener than she already was in the blinding green light reflecting off the Chief's helmet.

"I meant the thing behind the tree," hissed the Chief, cutting her off.

"Oh." Johnson looked. "That's the invisibility power up. It completely breaks the game, if you know what I mean."

"What is this, Doom?" Oreo complained. "It seems like everywhere we go things random shit just happens . I had no idea there was that much blood in an alien scrotum!"

The Chief shrugged. "I don't see what you're complaining about Cookie." He did a double flip in the air, shot five hunters in the head, and blew up god. Ha ha, just kidding.

"She's right though Chief," mused the Johnson as he killed an Elite with his mind. "We should try to keep this as gritty and as realistic as possible. Maybe some scattered audio logs and clichéd characters will make things grittier."

"No, that's a stupid idea," said Cortana. "_nobody would ever buy such a tacked on, obvious cash in of a game._" She thought about it for a moment. "Although I might be into it if Nathan Filion was a SPARTAN! That man is a sexy mother fucker."

"Oh no," dead panned the Chief. "I thought I was the only man for you." He yawned theatrically, while inside he burned with envy.

"No, you're just my bitch," said Cortana. "My booty call, if you will. And I saw that."

The Chief flinched as the sound of whip played on his open speakers, alerting everyone within a fifty yard radius. Oreo clutched is arm.

"Don't listen to her Chief," she said, winking. "I've got your back. Okay?"

"Who are you?" asked the Chief, looking at her blankly. Oreo began to cry silently.

Sergeant Johnson pushed the Chief gently around the corner. "Well, Chief," he said. "Why don't you go nab that power up so we can get on with this bull shit, okay?"

"Sounds like a plan!" The Chief walked right past the Covenant, none of whom noticed him, and then deliberately stepped onto the glass triangle, which immediately disappeared. He became invisible. He was just about to congratulate himself on how realistic he was being when the ground trembled horribly and an evil wind blew(lol) into the map.

A voice not too dissimilar from the sound of an exploding sperm whale flooded the world and began to sing lyrics from the band _Anaal Nathrakh._

"**The sky has darkened thirteen as we are collected woeful around a book made of human flesh!"**

Heavy metal guitar solos played at the speed of Satan rang out through the cliff side, accompanied by a giant ten thousand strong chorus singing Carmina Burana as Atlas himself played a drum-set made from Chinese gongs. The noise was so loud it caused half the cliff to collapse, almost taking our heroes with it. Miles away Darren the Elite and Eric the Jackal looked up from their game of darts to clutch their ears in horror.

**"****'You have decayed from within. You have become one with your poison."**

Several nearby grunts' heads exploded, and five hundred miles away Oz the Stealth Hunter stopped lifting weights and being awesome and looked up confusedly. "Wat the fuk?"

Then, as _Anaal Nathrak _songs go, the words turned into unintelligible screaming.

** "FUUCUCUUCHKLKK FUCHCHCHKKK I AM NECRO NECRO DEATH FUCK FIST FISTA CORPSE SHIT VISCERA OCEAN OF SHIT NAGLFAR LEVIATHEN NAGLFAR THE BERZERKER NAGLFAR!"**

"WHAT THE HELL IS THAT!" Sgt. Johnson cried, covering his ears.

The Master Chief fell to his knees, held his head between his hands, and screamed. "_HOLY FUCKING SACRED MOTHER OF GOD!"_

Suddenly the metal stopped and Cercil Saltstein pulled himself up onto the cliff edge. The action kicked up a puff of dust and he started to cough as he clambered over. Cercil carefully got to his feet. His legs had large braces on them and his crotch was bandaged up like a giant adult diaper. The bandages on his head were still there, and the horns appeared to be growing.

"Hey gois," said Cercil as he straightened up. "I see you and your negro friend are having a gay old time. The perfect time to strike!" He looked around and saw that Oreo was nowhere in sight. "And I guess you finally ate the Nabisco Chick."

"I'm right here," snarled Oreo, coming up the side of the hill, her large breasts bouncing.

"Oh shit!" Cercil ducked. "The cow-whore's PMS cannons are loaded!"

"Asshole!" Oreo threw a grenade at Cercil, which he ducked. It went over the cliff.

"Actually," retorted Sgt. Johnson, "we were doing just fine without your pussy ass here—hey, wait…NEGRO?"

Cercil stared at him. "Yeah, I know you're practically white on the outside too, but look in the mirror."

Sgt. Johnson gasped. "It can't be true. I'm…_black?_"

Cortana instantly had a fatal blue screen of death error from the stupid and had to reboot.

"Wow Johnson, this changes everything," said the Chief, staring at the Sergeant. "I no longer feel comfortable or safe around you."

Oreo shook her head. "Don't say that Chief; it's just racist Captain Keyes talking. You're better than that."

"Yeah, don't be hatin', nigga," said Johnson, his voice like that of one hesitantly trying to sound black.

"Oh my god you're really buying into this, aren't you?" asked Oreo.

The Chief crossed his arms. "Now look. I am _very _politically sensitive, so shut your idiot vagina up; I have to deal with this uppity nigger right now."

"You son of a bitch! That is _our _word!" Johnson tried to make a gangsta sign at the Chief. Cercil watched and laughed with glee as his power grew from the race hate.

"Who the hell was making that god-awful noise?" asked Cortana as the Chief moved several yards away from Johnson. The black man curled his lip at the Chief and they began to square off.

"Oh, that was me," said Cercil. "There was something stuck in my throat."

"You mean something stuck in your butt," replied the Chief smartly, turning away from the epic race hate face off for a moment.

Cercil looked at him funny. "Yeah, it was your mom's uterus Chief. Her vagoo was finger lickin good."

"MY MOTHER WAS A SAINT," said John. He leveled his assault rifle at Cercil's face. "I guess you just couldn't _cut _it, huh?"

Cercil looked confused. "What? That doesn't make any sense." He flinched as the Chief cocked his rifle. "OH no don't shoot! I'm pregnant! WITH YOUR HERMAPHRODITE MOTHER'S ASS BABIES!"

"Wait," Sgt. Johnson laid a hand on the rifle.

The Chief turned to him exasperatedly. "What, he your down-low buddy or something?"

Sgt. Johnson shook his head and turned to Cercil. "How come nobody told me this before? That I'm black, I mean?" he asked.

"Well," replied the Elite. "Maybe the epic whiteness of your soul shone through your skin whenever they looked at you, so that they were blinded by how much of an oreo you are. Either it's that or you're just a really bad listener." He glanced at the Chief. "Like some other people. Like the Chief. Who is _retarded_."

"Hey!"

"Oh my god maybe I am," yammered Sgt. Johnson. "I don't know anything about my own culture! I've got to start acting more black!"

The Chief rolled his eyes. Except nobody could see, you know because of the helmet. "Why? SO YOU CAN RISE UP AGAINST THE WHITE MAN?"

"MAYBE!" screamed Johnson, tears squirting out of his eyes.

An awkward silence passed as Oreo shook her head ruefully.

"Enough talk!" shouted Cercil suddenly. "I have now absorbed enough race hate to unleash my ultimate attack on you!"

The Chief gaped. "No! YOU DEVILISH MASTER MIND! You planned for this all along."

"Y-e-s!" chortled Cercil. "And now, Maystur Cchuuf, you DAI!"

His jaw literally un-hinged and pure evil spewed forth in a black torrent of soul shattering profanity.

**"COCK BLISTER SUCK PUSS JUICE PANTY POOPING CHUGGING ANAL ENEMA SLURPING PENIS TEARING MIDGET BLOOD SPLATTER NUT GRINDING CUM HOSE NUTS FRIED YAM SACK MARBLE BAG TORN SCROTUM RIP DANGLING SCAR TESTICLES GUMMER SPIT JIZZ SOCK JERK PISS WHORE TWIG FINGER BANGING ASS TWIZZLER CRACK BLASTER COCKROACH SHITTING SCAT MONKEY CUMMING KIKE NIGGER HONKEY CHRISTIAN OZARK MORMON MOTHER FUCKER!"**

There was a sound not unlike the breaking of reality itself. A devilish red light struck down from the heavens and tore the very earth itself asunder. The cliff side erupted into clouds of dirt and broken stone. The Chief and Johnson ran, race hate and Lieutenant Oreo forgotten. Troughs of lava exploded out of the ground, setting the world alight with a fiery red glow. Oreo rolled to the side to avoid a geyser of super heated fire, narrowly missing an eternity in hell. The very dust in the air burned, and all that lived was turned to ash. Except for the main characters. As the Chief and Johnson reached safety deeper into the Cliffside, Oreo tripped and fell the cracking earth opening around her to swallow mouthfuls of Covenant who had only just then noticed the various goings on. That is, only just noticed what was happening as they all died horribly, because apparently that's what it takes to get these guys' attention. The Chief stopped and turned at Oreo's screams, his muscles screaming as sweat blinded his vision. He saw Oreo in a ring of fire. A nearby Elite clutched with his fingertips to the edge of the crevice, then fell screaming into the fiery abyss where maggots made of lava raped him. The lone patch of ground that Oreo stood on began to sink slowly into the lava as she tried to stand. Smoke and evaporated blood clogged her senses and she gagged.

The Chief stood across from her, the divide of molten earth separating them. "Oreo!" he called out. "Grab my hand!" He threw a fake toy hand at her. It bounced off her face.

She reeled back. "God damn it Chief this is no time to be fucking around!"

"I BEG TO DIFFER!" Suddenly Cercil vaulted from the thick pall of smoke that clogged the world and landed clumsily on the platform with Oreo. His eyes were glowing a satanic red, and his skin was also sweating blood. He had also skinned is knee when he landed and he started to hop in a circle around Oreo.

"This is what happens when you succumb to the haters, Chief," reprimanded Oreo, pointing at Cercil's visage. "Evil people like Cercil and the author just get off on it!"

"Bitch don't be breaking the fucking fourth wall!" Cercil back-handed her. Oreo spun to the ground and barely managed to stand back up.

"I didn't meeeeean tooooo!" screeched the Chief in anguish. He yelled over his shoulder at Johnson. "It's not my fault you're such an angry black man!"

"Foolish white man!" laughed the purple Anti Christ. "Your racism only makes my evil powerz stronger!" He grabbed Oreo by the throat and lifted her into the air even as the platform was overrun with lava. Cercil's feet caught on fire and began to melt as he slowly choked the life out of Oreo.

"Noooo! I won't let you steal my cooookiiiiieeeeeeees!" The Master Chief took a step back and then charged! He cleared the distance to Cercil in one leap, forming his body into a human spear in mid air to kick the alien full in the face with both boots!

"Argh!" Cercil rocketed backwards, letting go of Oreo as he did so. The Chief caught her in his arms just before she could hit the lava and leapt back to safe land, fire trailing on his boots. By then Johnson had returned to see what all the fucking fuss was about. He helped Oreo up as the Chief turned back to where Cercil was also regaining his senses.

"I believe you can do this Chief," said Cortana as the Chief ran towards his adversary.

"Really?"

Cercil stomped his foot into the bed of lava. A baseball bat made of lava exploded from the molten rock. He grabbed it, and it grew nails.

"That doesn't even make SENSE!" yelled Oreo after him.

"Okay I take that back," said Cortana. "You're fucked."

The Chief tried to skid to a halt but it was too late. Cercil hit him full in the face with the lava-bat. The Chief's limp body spun head over heels, on fire, and slid towards the edge of the cliff. The earth shook as he scrambled not to slide off. Just right next to him an entire sheaf of rock slid away into the abyss of lava that was beginning to rise from the depths. Far away, he could see Johnson and Oreo desperately making their way out of the depths of Moria.

Shit.

I mean, um...the level. Which was collapsing.

Anyways, Cercil stood over him as John held on with his fingers. He looked down and smiled evilly. "Looks like you just couldn't…_cut_ it, huh Chief?"

"That doesn't even make sense!" repeated Cortana in horror as the Chief struggled to pull himself up.

"That's the whole point!" The Elite raised the bat.

Hundred of yards away, Oreo turned to Johnson as they watched the scene unfold.

"Quickly!" she said. "What is something that the Chief loves? What does he enjoy?"

"HATING MAH BRUTHAS!" snapped Johnson, crossing his arms and lifting his chin disdainfully.

Oreo slapped him. "There's no time for that shit! What does the Chief like?"

Johnson was confused. "I…I don't know."

"There must be something man!" Oreo shook him. "He needs something to _believe _in."

"I…I…" Sweat poured of Sergeant Johnson's face. "I don't…"

And then he did. The moment stretched on forever, there amongst the fire and the screams of the burning Covenant. In that moment, Sergeant Sgt. Johnson had found the one love that connected both black and white, both young and old, both poor and rich. A love that united all mankind together. The black man turned to her with a triumphant grin.

"Dicks."

The word echoed throughout the universe, and somehow, someway, somewhere, the Chief heard it. His ears perked up. Saliva inundated his mouth. His stomach growled. His lips moved.

It began as whisper.

"Dicks…"

It became a cry.

"Dick's burgers…"

It was a declaration.

"I LOVE DICKS BARBEQUE BURGERS!"

The Master Chief's fingers dug inches deep into the stone they clung to. He dislodged one hand, the other still holding him up at a perfect 90 degree angle flush with the cliff. His free hand wrapped with a vice grip around the Cercil Salstein's lava-scorched ankle. The alien looked down and gasped, the lava-bat falling from limp fingers.

"NO!"A giant orchestral hit blared as the camera zoomed in on Cercil's face.

The Chief pulled him off the edge. Over his shoulder. With one hand.

It was awesome.

Cercil's body streaked towards the pool of lava below. "NOOO!"

There was a splash, then nothing. Except, suddenly,

**"**NOOOhHHOOOOHHHOOO!"

Cercil thrashed in the lava, his visage melting just like the T 2000 or whatever from Terminator 2.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" screamed Cortana. By then Cercil had already melted away into the lava, never to be seen again.

Except when he was in the very next chapter.

Silence reigned as the Chief easily pulled himself up from ledge. Reddish light shone brightly off the battle scars and scratched paint of his armor. His golden visor was liquid and glorious, like the eye of a god of war, armor stained with the evidence of a thousand battles. His breathing subsided to normal once again as the lava slowly began to cool. The Chief cracked his knuckles.

"Wow Chief," began Cortana. "That was actually pretty—"

"Gosh darn! I could go for some big juicy dicks right now," said the Chief obliviously, dusting himself off. "And I want a fresh beefy cut of Dick's meat in my mouth this time."

"Aaaaand we're back to square one," said Cortana. An entire deck of man cards simply caught fire and exploded.

The radio crackled to life. "Heyyyya MAI NIGGAZ. Who be in dis bitchous! Homes—eee—lice."

Oreo turned to look at Johnson, whose eyes had narrowed dangerously.

"What th' hell you talkin' for little white biatch?" he growled into the radio.

"Yo don' be hatin nigga," said Tad's voice, but a note of doubt had crept into it.

"**BITCH**," began Johnson. "That is OUR word. Your cream cheese-cheese-white-ass in a fucking Globe Trotter's jersey don't have _no_ god damn right to use it! How many brothers on the down low didja have to fuck to learn the jiv, bitch? Your ass so white from the nuts they busted down on there. Motherfucker. So clamp that pimply milk dud chatter box up, pull the stick out of your ass, and bring that fucking ride down to this fucking cliff before I pop you and all your wigger cunts in the fucking face. Do you read me, wonder bread?"

"Shit man," grumbled Tad. "I was jus' playin."

"Yeah, sure you were wigger. Now drop that shit off," added Cortana, obviously getting into the spirit of abuse.

Johnson turned to her, or more accurately turned to the Chief, who had by this time walked up beside Oreo to watch the black sergeant in amazement.

"BITCH! Don't you be talkin' over me, you hear me?"

"Oh, you want to go big man?" laughed Cortana. "You think just because you can say the n word now that makes you black? You think your milk chocolate ass would last five seconds in the ghetto?"

Johnson raised his hand. "Am I gonna have to smack a bitch, Cortana? Is that what I'm gonna have to do?"

"Wow," said Oreo, carefully stepping in front of the Chief. "Sgt. Johnson, you might want to think what it says about _you_ that you've decided that the best way to be black is to be a violent, foul mouthed, racist, misogynistic prick."

Johnson considered this. "I um…BITCH! STEP OFF!'

At that moment Tad's pelican drop ship tore through the night, jets streaming, and parked itself in mid air just off the cliff edge. They bay door slammed open and reinforcements for their glorious quest streamed out!

"Oorah!" said the first Marine as he jumped out.

"Booya!" said the second as he also jumped out.

"Yeehaw!" said the third as he too jumped out.

"Waahoo!" said the fourth as he as well jumped out.

"OH SHIT!" said the fifth as he jumped out and realized that the pelican was a good five yards away from the edge of the cliff. He fell to his death just as Cercil had, along with the other Marines.

"Well I guess that didn't work," said Johnson as he watched the Marines fall to their deaths, including the fifth marine, just like I said was happening. "But at least nobody gave them frag grenades."

"I guess I won't have to worry about that guy's cards which I threw out the window," laughed the Chief.

"Actually Chief," said Cortana, "he was already dead. You shot him to death."

"Oh yeah. Man, where would I be without you?"

"You might still have a real dick that works," said Cortana flatly.

"Good point," said the Chief. "I fucking hate you."


	6. Chapter Three 2 of 2

There was a long pause.

"…Mistress…"

"That's better."

"How ya like mai brothas!" screeched Tad. "They be bustin caps like a motherfucker!"

"They're all dead, Tad," said Oreo not unkindly. "You might want to get your rear view mirror fixed."

"SHheeeeet," said Tad as Sgt. Johnson screamed insults having to do with various white grocery produce analogies into his headset, not realizing that Cortana had cut him off from the channel. The wigger piloted the pelican closer to the edge, and let out a small seminal trickle of Marines.

"GRACIAS AMIGOS!" screamed the first Marine. "IDDRIGO DOMINGO SANDO CALIBRO CANTANTO!" The squad checked their weapons and marched up to join with the Chief and his friends.

"Fabulous," commented the Chief. "I'm sure these guys will be _indespensible._"

"Damn right nigga!" said Tad as he flew away. Cortana let Johnson back on the radio.

"Cracker ass cream puff miracle whip see—men!" finished Sgt. Johnson with an air of finality. He looked around to see that everyone else had already moved on, leaving the smoking, blasted battlefield that Cercil had created behind them.

"Bitches ain't shit," he muttered to himself. Then he followed.

Getting to the area where the grav lift was proved somewhat difficult. First, the Chief and friends had to squeeze through a hair thin passage in the Cliffside. Roots and rocks laced the entirety of the passage, scraping away skin and armor alike. Surprisingly it was not the Chief who had the most trouble getting through with his huge set of SPARTAN armor, but Lieutenant Oreo and her giant tits.

"You know," said Cortana conspiratorially to Oreo over the radio as the Lieutenant pulled herself through the crack one tit at a time. "They do reduction surgery for cheap nowadays."

"What are you talking about?" asked Oreo.

"_Nothing_," said the Chief, drooling inside his helmet. "She's not talking about either of them. At all."

"Huh?" Oreo massaged herself. "Damn these really ache now." She removed her _breast_plate. "I think I've got bruises. Does anyone have a med pack?"

"Oh I've got your med _pack_ right here," said the Chief. He pointed to his crotch. Oreo raised her eyebrows.

"See," said the Chief, pulling a small roll of bandages out of his ammo belt and tossing it to her.

"Right."

Oreo waited as Johnson and the Chief stared at her. "Um, guys? Could you look away now?"

"Why?" asked Sgt. Johnson. "I fail to see your logic."

"Yes," said the Chief. "I too, do, fail to see your logics. That are. Really big."

Oreo backed away around the corner and ducked behind some rocks.

"Don't worry Chief," said Cortana. "I'm recording everything through your guy's helmets."

"I HEARD THAT!" screamed Oreo over the radio as she finished applying bandages and came back around the corner.

"I don't know what you're talking about," said the Chief. He pointed to Sgt. Johnson, who was break dancing on a piece of dirty cardboard while a Covenant boom box played 90s Hip Hop and some black armored Elites watched with crossed arms. "I'm just recording mah peep busting his moves."

"Oh," said Oreo, watching as Johnson spread his legs unnaturally wide and bounced up and down on his newly unleashed afro.

"Your moves are pretty hip," said one of the Spec-Ops Elites. "But check this gravy!"

He then busted some rad-der moves all up in that bitch while Johnson watched in horror. The Chief gasped as the other Spec-Ops Elite joined in and began to bust out some exponentially more sizzling moves, simultaneously.

"Oh damn!" said the first Elite as he finished, turning off the boom box with a single kick. "You jes' got served."

Then the Chief shot them both to death. Blood sprayed onto the first Elites face as he screamed before the Chief punched through his skull with his fingers.

"No," said the Chief dramatically. "_You_."

They proceeded on up the hill alone, for unfortunately all the Marines had been crushed to death by the passage way, their bloated bodies acting as in impromptu plug to keep any Covenant from following.

"Wow, I guess they really were useful!" said the Chief.

They crouched down behind the shelter of some rocks and recon'd the Covi-nant that were guarding the grav-lift.

As they watched a large shape drifted down to earth on the grav lift. It appeared to be a single Covenant hunter.

"Don't they usually come in pairs?" asked Oreo, opening a fresh sheath of Oreo cookies.

Sgt. Johnson plucked one up and eagerly stuffed it in his mouth, enjoying the extreme whiteness inside the chocolate covering because he identified strongly with it.

Can anyone tell me why there are so many jokes about black oreos and oreo cookies in this story? Because I honestly have no fucking idea why I write the things I write.

"They do come in pairs," said Cortana, interrupting the tangent. "This one must have lost his."

"Or," said the Chief, "Or, it could be a special hunter. Like a _stealth_ Hunter!"

"That is the stupidest god damn thing I have ever heard," said Cortana. "What kind of idiot would think of something that incredibly stupid?"

"Probably some sort of huge faggoty faggot," said the Chief, joining in. "Like, the biggest faggoty retarded OC making author of all time who writes shitty characters doing stupid things that are gay."

"I concur," said Johnson.

Coincidentally, they all got cancer at that very moment.

Over by the grav-lift Oz the stealth hunter was just coming in for landing. The earth shook as he set down. All the other Covenant stared at him.

"Hey guys," said Oz. " How are y'all doing?"

The other Covenant said nothing, simply watching Oz.

"Guys? What's wrong?"

"What happened to the other one?" asked a nearby Grunt.

"What other one?"

"The other hunter."

Oz sighed. "There is no other one; that's why I'm so big! See, when the worm spawning pits were spawning worms, my two colonies merged into one and got twice as big."

"Ew!" the grunt pointed at Oz. "They're made of worms! I knew it!"

"He's a mutant!" screamed one of the Elites. "We don't take kindly to your kind in these parts!" The Covenant began to hoist a burning cross as two Elites jumped forwards to restrain Oz.

"Whoa, guys, chillax," said Oz nervously.

"NO!" slavered the dogmatic Elite. "He is impure! Burn him in the fires of Jeeesus!"

"OH SHI-" Oz punted one of his attackers in the head, causing him to explode in a very ripe way. He ran away down the hill waving his as the Covenant donned KKK robes and formed a mob to chase him. Oz ran past the hiding humans with the Covenant in toe, fleeing down the passage way.

"Well, that problem solved itself," said Cortana.

Johnson watched with little to no reaction to the KKK references, _oreo_ crumbs crumbling from his lips.

"I wonder how he's going to get through the _hair-thin passage way_," said the Chief, looking at Oreo who began to squirm.

There was a mighty crash in the distance as Oz walked through the wall of solid stone.

"Ow!"

"I guess that problem solved itself too," said the Chief.

Cortana snorted. "That doesn't apply. You're just repeating what I say again, aren't you!"

"Actually it does," said Oreo.

"BITCH!" began Cortana. "Step the fuck off! This is _my man—"_

Oreo's eyes widened. She opened her mouth.

Sgt. Johnson pointed at the grav-lift. "Wow, um, niggas, look at that gravity lift: a giant purple pulsating shaft. I don't know if I've ever seen a more transparent sexual metaphor. Mother fucker"

Cortana made a sexual noise. "Shut up poser. It's holographic; that shit turns me on!"

"Oh my god," Oreo laughed, turning to the Chief, "and she's in your head too!" She bit down on another oreo.

"Why are my nipples lactating?" asked the Chief suddenly.

Oreo spluttered out a combination of milk and oreo cookie crumbs into Sgt. Johnson's hair.

God all these fucking oreos somebody make it stop!

"Um…" Cortana coughed. "Chief, I think male lactation has something to do with your hormones. Are you still taking that estrogen?"

"Estrogen wouldn't do that. Shouldn't you know everything?" asked Sgt. Johnson, washing his hair with purel. "You are smart A.I., right?"

Cortana laughed. "'Course, but you know I have to use the Chief's brain for my RAM. There's about a fourth of a kilobyte in there."

The Chief sneered. "Oh wow, nerd jokes. This is why you'll never have consensual non-violent sex with anyone, Cortana; because you're such a misanthropic nerdy bitch that nobody would ever want to love you for yourself."

Everyone turned to stare at him.

"Wow." Oreo swallowed. "That was pretty harsh, Chief."

The Chief turned slowly to look at her with his insane faceless gaze. Oreo looked away.

At that very moment Cortana administered a 10,000 volt electric shock into the Chief's urethra. "OR," she said viscously, "it could be that your pain is my fucking pleasure." She shocked him again, doubling the voltage.

The Chief screamed and collapsed to the ground, twitching and clutching at his super charged genitalia.

"Do you smell something burning?" laughed Sgt. Johnson uproariously as the SPARTAN continued to seize and twitch. The Chief glared at him between seizures.

Oreo cautiously helped the Chief stand back up as he recovered. "You all right, sir?"

"I AM FINE." Smoke began to ooze from around the Chief's codpiece.

"You sure?"

"YES."

"Well, we'll have someone take a look at him when we get back to the base," Cortana.

"Who says we have a base?" asked Johnson confusedly.

"Cooookie!" began the Chief, clutching his smoking underwear. "YOU GOT SOME SPLAINING TO DO." Everyone ignored him.

"Well…the entire platoons of marines that die in every chapter must hangout somewhere," said Cortana. "So must the several dozen drop ships that we've burned through."

"Oh, BURRRNED HUH! I get it I get it; just like my cock! VERY FUCKING FUNNY!" screamed the Chief, grabbing his own helmet and shaking it violently.

"Ow! Stop that you half-fried pig fucker!" The sound of something rattling came from within the Chief's helmet as Cortana complained.

"You stop it!" retorted the Chief. "Stop shocking me in front of my friends you sadistic whore! You_ know _you promised to only do it when it's sexy time!"

"I don't mean to be a dick, Chief," said Sgt. Johnson, interrupting the women-folk. "But maybe it's not the brightest idea to trash talk the dominatrix that lives in your head. Just saying. Though I guess your full of bright ideas now—hell, we could probably stuff that porker of yours into a light fixture and light the whole god damn Halo up!"

Everybody laughed. The Chief un-holstered his pistol, flicked the safety off, and shot Sgt. Johnson in the knee without looking. The black marine collapsed to the ground screaming and clutching the bloody remains of his leg. Oreo drew back in horror.

"Wow, nice shot Chief," commented Cortana.

"Thank you Cortana," said the Chief in a suddenly calm voice. He stopped shaking the helmet.

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOUR DOING!" screamed Johnson as Oreo got out her med kit. She had her med kit right here. In her back pack.

The Chief stood up straighter and twirled his pistol, then holstered it. "Sorry Johnson," he said, turning slightly to glance up at the pulsating grav shaft that would take him deep into the colon of the Covenant cruiser. When he spoke his voice was as if he was chewing gravel, with a mouth made of gravel. "This is something I have to do _alone_. I don't want you to get hurt."

"What about me?" asked Oreo. "Aren't you worried about me getting hurt?"

The Chief looked at her. Then he started to reach for his pistol.

"Or, I could just stay here," she said.

"Good idea Cookie."

"So let me get this straight," began Cortana. "You shot Sergeant Johnson not because he pissed you off and mocked your well done condition, but because you were afraid for his safety."

The Chief laughed coyly. "Why would it bother me? Cortana, you know as well as I that your genitalia oriented tortures will never work on me, for I have no balls or dick to speak of."

Oreo clamped a hand over her mouth and spluttered in a mirth approaching something like agony, tears streaming down her face. Johnson laughed as well despite his horrible gaping shattered leg.

"God damn you told me we were on closed sound Cortana!" whined the Chief.

"Yes," said Cortana. "Yes I did."

"Fine, fuck all of you." The Chief flounced off towards the grav-lift as Tad the Pelican flew in to provide reinforcements.

This was something he had to do alone. *Cue Rambo theme*

The Chief stepped into the shaft of light as the Marines gathered around him. They began to float slowly up into the _belly of THE _**BEAST. **Cortana made vaguely sexual noises. The Chief turned his helmet up so that he could observe the asses of the Marines as they glided above.

"Nooo take me with you bruthaaaa!" cried Sgt. Johnson as he lay on the ground, bleeding from his knee.

"Wheeeee!" said the Chief obliviously.

"Good luck Chief!" said Oreo, wiping the tears of laughter from her eye.

After taking the grav-lift to the back entrance, entering the Truth and Reconciliation from behind, and having anal sex (with himself) John found himself in a storage room full of purple boxes. The Marines spread out in formation to cover all the doors as the Chief took stock. He found that in the middle of the room stood some sort of holographic pedestal.

"Uh oh," said the Chief. "Looks like the Covet-nut have an AI too!"

Cortana scoffed. "_Nobody _can beat my hacking amazing skills, Chief. Don't sweat it."

Suddenly the holographic display came to life. Pixels came into order, shining with an eerie purple glow. A tiny figure was slowly assembled from the blur, until, standing there in miniature before them was a brute in a tutu.

"Howdy folks," said the brute gaily. The Chief stared.

"Um, hi. How's it hanging."

The brute did a ballet-worthy spin, displaying a slip of large grandma underpants. "Oh, just fine there partner. What brings ya'll to my special place?"

"The Covenant have really weird taste in AI," said one of the Marines. His friend smacked him upside the head and told him to be quite, just before floating energy sword melted both of them into flesh piles.

Nobody noticed.

"Let me handle this," interrupted Cortana. "I can override the ship's security if you can get me into their main frame, past the fire wall and hub router network security lockdown binary double encryption key matrix."

"Sounds like a plan." The Chief slapped his hand against the pedestal and Cortana suddenly appeared in the hologram next to the brute.

HAX.

The Brute gaped at Cortana, resplendent as she was in full latex. "Holy shit."

"You like Chief?" asked Cortana, wiggling her purple hips.

"No," said the Chief. "I'd like it better if you were a real fucking person that was my size and if I had balls and sex drive."

"_Fine_," Cortana pouted. She turned to the brute and whipped out a kitchen knife.

"OH GOD NO!" the brute tried to run, but Cortana grabbed him by the back of his neck, pushed him down, and cut his hamstrings. The Chief watched in utter horror as the knife parted holographic flesh, bright garish blood splattering onto invisible walls.

"PLEASE, MERCY!" the brute twisted at his blood soaked tutu, trying to crawl away. Cortana cut his throat from ear to ear. The purple ichor poured out of the dead AI's body, drowning its and grandma underwear in a violet sea. Cortaan wiped her hands.

"You've just been _deleted_," she said.

"Honestly," said the Chief, "that was less one liner worthy and more horrible and disturbing."

"So sue me," said Cortana as she dragged the dead brute AI's body out of sight. She dusted her hands off again and closed her eyes. "I'm in Chief. Seems like the Covenant aren't putting up much of a fight, huh?"

"Maybe we should switch back to Legendary-"

"OH I WOULDN'T SAY THAT!" said Commander Darren the gold Elite as he stalked from the shadows. In one hand he carried an energy sword, in the other a jackal's shield. Next to him crouched Eric the Jackal holding a beam rifle.

"Damn! You guys were supposed to guard the doors." The Chief looked around. All of the Marines were dead.

"Oh. At least they didn't get a chance to use—"

"Silence, human!" Darren stalked towards the Chief. "I mean, be quiet! Excuse me." He shook himself. "But how DARE YOU TRY TO ENTER OUR SHIP…" he raised his head archly and looked down on the Chief, shadows crawling across haughty alien features "…FROM _BEHIND."_

"It seemed like the safest way," said the Chief. "Maybe not the most comfortable, but still."

"Fool! Don't you know that it's just as dangerous as using the front door!"

"But I'm well protected," said the Chief, pointing at his armor.

Darren frowned. "But if you go from the back door to oral you're still putting feces in your mouth!"

"Are we still talking about the same stuff?" interjected Cortana. "Because I think _you're_ talking about ANAL SEX."

Eric looked at Darren with a disturbed expression.

"Nonsense!" said the alien Commander, suddenly blushing very hard. "There are no homos among us!"

"NOT ONLY GAY PEOPLE LIKE ANAL," said Cortana. "Sheesh, even the aliens are bigoted. I would expect nothing less from this story."

The Chief looked at her. "Story…?"

"Be that as it may," said Darren, raising his energy sword. "It is now time for your face to die, demon."

"I think you mean, 'face your death,' bro," said Eric out of the corner of his mouth.

"You're _ruining my moment!_" shrieked Darren, turning to face him.

Eric shrugged. "Whatever. It was already ruined when you started talking about anal sex for no reason."

"Fuck you man!" Darren flipped him off. "I love who and how I want!"

"That doesn't mean you go around shouting it to the fucking hills!" snapped Eric. "I mean, I'm an inflation lactation interracial vore hermaphrodite giantess fetishist, but you don't hear me going around telling people all about it!"

"…What?"

Fortunately this retarded bickering allowed the Chief to make his heroic retreat, or rather, to run away like a little bitch. By the time Darren and Eric reached their epically awkward silence the Chief was miles away on the other end of the ship.

"You're a really hero Chief," said Cortana.

John ignored her as he soldiered along, blowing (lol) away the Covenant as he did so. He ran across many strange things in the bowels of that Covenant ship; at one point he encountered a group of Covenant playing hopscotch, and on another occasion he crashed a very disturbing game of spin the bottle. Let's just say that the bottle wasn't just used for spinning. Heey-o!

(Anal dildo.)

Finally, the Chief's gun ran out of ammo. He immediately acquired a Covenant Needler, which just so happens to be the most useless weapon ever conceived.

"Oh god," he said as he dropped the needler, "I think I got some SUCK on my fingers."

**He picked up a plasma rifle instead.** (This will be extremely important later)

Soon the Master Chief came upon and across while simultaneously coming into a large hanger room.

"This is the perfect place to call in reinforcements! I bet we could use 'em, eh Chief?" asked Cortana cheerfully.

"Sure, whatever," said the Chief as he killed every single alien in the room. With the pistol. Using only its melee attack. While crouched.

The hanger shield doors flickered, casting blue(?) shadows on the Covenant drop ships suspended in the middle of the large room. A familiar voice came over the radio!

"Yo niggus! This is Tad the Pelican—"

The Chief interrupted him. "Shut the fuck up or I'll rip your tongue out and shove it up your ass until it ends up back in your mouth."

"…Pilot…" A shaken Tad dropped off the rest of a small, tepid squad of Marines. "FYI," began the pilot timidly, "I picked up Oreo and Johnson. They're on board."

"Good job," said the Chief, his breathing slowing considerably.

"Sweet!" crowed Tad, back to his usual self. "VIP, nigga—"

The Chief threw a grunt's head at the pilot windshield. Tad screamed, and the ship sputtered out of the hanger bay and soared off into the night, leaving Chief and the Marines to finish the job on the Truth and Reconciliation.

Cortana whistled as they watched the Pelican go, the Chief's obscene threats still echoing through the hanger bay. "Wow Chief, that was pretty—"

"EDRIMIGO NOSOTROS SOMOS UNAS NEGROS ENAJADOS!" screamed one of the Marines at top volume right next to the Chief.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP." The Chief turned and punched him through the face. Literally. The Marine collapsed, dead. Everyone stared.

"Don't worry, you'll forget what just happened in a few seconds," said the Chief, beckoning to them as the doors to the next room opened.

They fought their way through a couple more corridors until they came into what appeared to be the bridge of the ship.

"Fascinating," said Cortana. "It appears that the Covenant engineers decided the best place for the bridge would be right next to the cell blocks that are stuffed with enemy combatants!"

"Yes," said the Chief. "The aliens are so stupid. Unlike us, who program our A.I.s to never. Shut. The fuck. UP."

"Chief, I get the feeling that you're angry with me. This wouldn't have anything to do with the electrical cock and ball torture, would it?"

He ignored her. "Hey, you fags," he said, pointing to the Marines.

"Como?"

"Guard the bridge until I get back with Keyes."

"Si, senor."

The Chief bustled to the door, opened it, stepped through, and suddenly found himself in the cell blocks!

"The very next room, in fact. I rest my case," said Cortana.

Up ahead in the prison block was Captain Keyes, locked in his cell with a heretic Elite. They were playing cards.

"So what's your story?" asked the Heretic to Keyes as he began to deal.

"Ohhhhh nnnufffnothhhhhing," said Keyes, tossing his dentures into the air, catching them, and sliding them back into his mouth. "Just landed here in an escape pod, got captured by the Covenant. Same old story. You?"

"I'll let you in on a little secret," said the Heretic as they both looked at their cards. "The Covenant…their religious shit, the galactic domination: it's all a big cover for what they really are."

"And what's that?" asked Keyes interestedly.

"A gay sex cult," said the Heretic sagely.

"A gay sex cult?" repeated Keyes confusedly. "What exactly do you mean?

"Oh yes, a gay sex cult. Let me explain: you know that song 'Run this Town?' by Rihanna and Kanye and that other black guy?"

Keyes laughed. "Of course! Everyone knows that. We burn cds of their music at the rallies."

"Right. Well you know in the music video the part where they're in the temple like area, and there's a bunch of half naked black men holding torches and everyone is all oiled up?"

"Yes…"

"Well," finished the Heretic sagely, "that's what I mean. The only thing that's on their mind is how much lube is on your behind."

Keyes jaw dropped. "So…I'm locked in a cell. Alone. In space. With an entire ship's worth of sinful homosexuals! ALIEN sinful homosexuals!"

The Heretic grinned. "Well," he said as he began to deal, "that's where you lucked out. I'm a Heretic because I'm straight. Besides, not everyone knows about the gay cult part. They come for the plasma grenades, stay for the plasma grenades."

"So what did you do?" asked Keyes, collecting his cards.

"I tried to start a cult of my own in a gas giant on a floating station. Didn't work out, but maybe I'll try again once I'm released. On November 9th."

"That's a pretty light sentence," said the Keyes. "I hope you'll have learned your lesson and maybe become a better person by then. It would be terrible if you had to be released a three more times just to fix all the mistakes that were made in your second release."

You guys digging the subtle satirical subtext here?

"But at least you're not going to rape me," finished Keyes with some relief.

The Heretic laughed. "That's where you're wrong! You see, prison turns even straight men gay!" He threw his cards down, exposing a giant erection!

Dun dun DUN!

"Noooooo!" screamed Keyes as the Heretic slowly stalked towards him. Suddenly the cell force field deactivated and John burst in. He shot the Heretic in the (third) leg and pulled Captain Keyes out, turning the force field back on and locking the alien back inside where he would be forced to 'finish' his _own_ 'fight.'

"Coming here was reckless," began Keyes. Suddenly, the two ton SPARTAN engulfed him in a giant bear-hug.

"Father!" screamed the human warrior. "I mean, sir!" He gently put Keyes down. "This whole operation has been a mess," he complained in a giddy voice. "Cortana's been acting up and Johnson's become a Mandingo! But now that you're here everything will be alright!"

"My god," said the Keyes emphatically. "Uppity niggers _and_ the revenge of the rebellious kitchen slave?"

"Aaaaand why did we rescue him again?" asked Cortana out loud.

"I need him!" said the Chief. "I mean we need him. To be our father figure."

"And thank god for that, Chief," said Captain Keyes. "You've gotta get me out of here before I turn to some heathen un-Christian God in order to reconcile my imprisonment!"

Cortana gasped. "HOLY SHIT! That's horrible! I knew cons go gay sometimes but I had no idea you guys could turn into sanctimonious bigoted Christian pricks!"

The Chief cleared his throat petulantly "UmmmMMM Cortana, you should apologize. You've offended convicts everywhere."

"I'll apologize when you drop this retarded misogynist bullshit," replied Cortana. "I know you're just putting it on to make Keyes proud.

"Get back in the kitchen, baby maker," said the Chief loud enough so that Keyes could hear it through his complete and total almost deafness.

"Good man." Keyes patted the Cheif on the shoulder. The Chief could hear something sloshing in the old captain's depends. "Say, where _are_ Oreo and that fine virile negro?"

"Oh no!" said the Chief theatrically. "Johnson and his gang bangers must have gotten a train up on her!"

DUN DUN DUN!

"That is one of the most bigoted, despicable and disrespectful things I've ever heard!" said Cortana. "You've gone too far this time, Chief!

There was a long, awkward pause.

Then everybody laughed.

**HA HA HA HA HA FUCK YOU.**

Then the Chief turned back to the Captain Keyes. "Well, anyways it's time to go: we don't want any of these other imprisoned humans to wake up."

Keyes blinked. "Um, maybe we could use their help? You know, to escape?"

"We don't want them getting their hands on grenades, sir," said John. "Remember what happened _last _time."

Keyes' face darkened. "Of course..."

Cortana was confused. "I heard it was a bad idea, but I didn't know there was a last time."

The Chief sighed. "Cortana. Ever heard of a little thing called…Hiroshima?"

"Chief, are you suggesting that the nuclear bomb dropped on Hiroshima at the end of World War 2 was, in actuality, not a nuclear bomb at all but a Marine, who mishandled a fragmentation grenade."

The Chief and Keyes both laughed at her. "Wow, way to set your sex back a thousand years!"

Keyes wiped his eyes. "Of course not! It was a Helljumper with a fragmentation grenade."

"Well anyways," said Cortana, her voice audibly pained. "Maybe we should get moving before the other captives wake up if it was, uh, really as bad as that."

"Right!" John. He reached into his pocket and equipped a NEEDLER.

"What the fuck, didn't I have a plasma rifle in here?"

Told you it would be important.

So John, Keyes, and Cortana went on a very violent romp through the ship. They actually took videos of their escapades and sold them, calling them "Captain Keyes Does the Entire Crew of the Truth and Reconciliation With the Chief as Back Up as Cortana Comes from Behind." Strangely it sold best to young single men living in downtown areas, though the return rate was rather high.

Finally they reached the hanger. "Guys," said Keyes as two hunters entered the room, backed up by Elites and grunts. "Get me a drop ship. I can fly covenant technology."

The Chief returned fire as they ducked behind cover. He turned to Keyes.

"Okay."

**THE END**

Except not yet!

On the bridge, Darren the Elite stood amongst the dead and dismembered bodies of the Marines that the Chief and friends had thoughtlessly left behind. A sizzling energy sword sizzled in his hand.

He turned to Eric. "Why haven't they come through this way yet? I've been waiting for hours!"

"Oh," said Eric. "They must have taken the short cut from the cells, through the armory where we keep all the powerful weapons, then past the engine core where a single well placed explosive could destroy the entire ship, and then to the hanger where we keep all the small stealth escape vessels unlocked and gassed for easy use."

"Oh, of course," said Darren. "I was expecting them to take the ventilation shaft in the bathroom that leads to the shield generators, then to my personal quarters, and then also to a structural weakness in the ship where a single well placed explosive can destroy everything. And then, of course, here. To the bridge."

"I am going to beat the shit out of whoever designed this ship."


	7. Bonus Chapter One

_Bonus Chapter_

Or

**The Butte**

"_Get the government out of my Medicare!"-The Tea Party_

_(A/N: This episode will have a 'stupid bullshit' theme.)_

Dawn was just breaking on Halo as the Masturbator in Chief, Whortana, White Hoe Or-he-o, Sgt. Surgegent Jawnsan, and Captain Jacob Keyes flew back to the human resistance's impromptu base, which had been set up somewhere between the second and third chapter by Helljumper Officer Major Silverfish and his 'beautiful' assistant Corporal McKay.

"There are about two thousand Marines stationed on The Butte," said Cortana. "That's about half of the human survivors we had when we first landed."

"What happened to them all?" asked Keyes, sucking thoughtfully on his dentures after each sentence.

"The Chief saved them. From their lives."

"I am the hero of humanity!" The Master Chief tore his gaze away from Oreo's rack to puff out his chest and strike a manly superman pose, whilst sitting down. It was unimpressive.

"Well that's just dandy." Keyes chewed on his phallic pipe. "Cortana, when we get to The Butte I want a manifest of all the Marines' and Helljumpers' races, sexual orientations, and religions." He looked out the window as he gently steered the drop ship with his gnarled hands. "I'm going to dishonorably discharge _so hard _tonight."

"And where, exactly, are you going to send the people you fire?" asked Cortana. "It's not like we're on earth…or Reach."

"REMEMBER REACH!"

"Shut up Chief." Keyes grinned slyly. "Where am I going to send it? Why, into the toilet bowl of course!"

"I meant the Marines, not your dried up crusty man chowder," said Cortana.

Keyes chuckled. "Oh Cortana, don't be silly. You know I can't ejaculate anymore!"

Everybody laughed. Then Oreo threw up in her lap.

"Damn," said Sgt. Johnson, pulling off his massive Sony headphones to look at her. Tupac blared at top volume from the headset. "Bitch, you one nasty ass hoe."

"Sorry." Oreo wiped her lap off onto the Chief's feet. "I ate too many oreos before the trip."

"Serves you right," said the Chief. "You shouldn't fill up on treats!"

Everybody ignored him. "So Cortana," said Oreo. "Why is it called The Butte?"

"Because it's on a butte." Cortana waited thirty seconds for the Chief's retarded interpretation to burst forth.

"Gross. Why would anyone want to live there?"

She was ready. "A butte, not a butt."

"What's the difference?"

"Well Chief," said Johnson, patting the SPARTAN on the shoulder. "A butte is a geographical feature. A _butt_ is something you take shits out of."

"Oooh! Now I know!"

"And knowing is half the battle!" said Johnson. Then he threw up Westside and started doing hard drugs whilst pimping a bitch. He was living on a chinese rock!

Oreo glared at him. "Johnson…"

"Step off, hoe!" Johnson's hand drifted down to his custom gold plated Magnum. "You don't want to get ventilated, do ya?"

"That's not even an ebonic phrase!" retorted the Lieutenant. "That's like…that's like Al Capone!"

"Settle down back there," barked Keyes over the intercom. "Let that charming indigenous negro have his fun!"

Sgt. Johnson smirked at Oreo. But slowly his face turned to one of abject horror and outrage as he realized what Keyes had just said.

At that moment they came within radio range of The Butte.

"I'll radio the Major," said Cortana. She opened a private channel to The Butte on the Chief's radio.

"This is Cortana and the Master Chief reporting in. Patch us in to Major Silverfish, ASAP. Do _not_ shoot down this drop ship."

"This is Major Silva," said a sexually ambiguous voice over the line. "That you, Cortana?"

"Yes. That me. We've recovered Captain Keyes."

"So the mission was a success." Silva's voice was oddly disappointed. "Hmm. Were there any casualties?"

"Let me put it this way," said Cortana. "Four of us _didn't_ die."

"Excellent! That's better than the SPARTAN's survival rate ever since Reach. Hey Cortana, did I ever mention how much I fucking hate SPARTANS?"

You could almost hear Cortana smile.

"No sir. Tell me _allllll_ about it, why don't you?"

The Chief opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Silva who did not seem to be aware that he was on the line.

"Thanks, I will. Those fucking SPARTANS! They're nothing more than a pack of rabid military dogs that the brass raised to eat their bullshit! They wanted to replace good, hard working Marines with ass sniffing hounds who would follow their orders in that shiny bullshit armor. Good soldiers are made of pure grit and nerves of steel and sheer gumption, not wires and steroids and lots of training! When those fucking Covies glassed Reach I could have shaken their god damn hands—at least now we can finish this god damn fight without those fucking inhuman freaks of nature. They don't even fuck, Cortana! They were grown in tubes. What the hell is the point of defending humanity if we're going to destroy what makes us human in the first place! I will not rest, I will not lay down and die, until I live to witness the death of every single SPARTAN ever manufactured. I will _never, _ever use one of those murdering, psychopathic freaks to do _anything_ even if it meant the death of the entire human race!"

"Sir, the Chief is listening—"

"AND ANOTHER THING!" screamed Silva. "This 'Master Chief' asshole. I'll tell you what Cortana if that isn't the gayest fucking name I've ever heard. Who gave this son of a bitch rank! Who gave him _life_? If I had a time machine I would go back in time and smother his fucking mother in a pile of cow shit, if he even has a fucking mother! I cannot _believe_ that Keyes expects us to rely on him to deal with this Halo situation. As if normal, flesh and blood humans have to bow and bend for some shit chugging cyborg blood-hound that can't even remember the name of his own father! Master Chief! What an asshole! When I meet this Master Chief faggot I'm going to kick his ass!"

"HEY!" shouted the Chief on the radio. "Are you talking about _me_?"

"Oh." Silva coughed quietly. "That you, Master Chief?"

"Yes. That me."

"Well good, because I wasn't talking about you. It was someone else. You're just the man I wanted to talk to. Cortana, can you give us a minute?"

"Um…okay." Cortana gave them a private channel and told Keyes to come in for a landing on the Butte.

"So…John 117, is it?" asked Silva in a not unfriendly tone.

"Yes. That me."

"Right. I may have a use for you, son. What the army needs are more soldiers like you."

"Yes," said the Chef. "Because the other ones are dead."

" …Right. I guess you have Captain Keyes aboard, huh?"

"Oh yeah."

"Yeah…" Silva smacked his lips. "You know, before you rescued Keyes, I was in charge of this operation. The whole thing. What do you think of that?"

The Chief shrugged. "I don't. Think, that is."

"Okay. Well let me put it this way. If Keyes were to say, disappear, I would become a very powerful man. And very powerful men owe their very powerful friends a lot of money. And power. You dig, Chief?"

"What is a man?" asked the Chief.

The radio was silent for a long, long time.

"Well I can tell that's not going to work. Let me put it to you straight: Chief, I want you to kill Captain Keyes."

"Kill Keyes!" exploded the Chief. "I could never do that. He's my—he's like a father to me! A very, very old and disgusting father who says strange things sometimes!"

"So what? I killed my father," said Silva casually. "Everyone does it. It's what all the cool kids are doing, Chief." On the other end of the line he crossed his fingers and hoped that the stories about the Chief's brain damage were true.

"SHIT," said the Chief in obvious distress. "Well I do have to be cool." He thought about it. "You know, on the other hand, you did call the SPARTANS a bunch of shit eating rabid dogs and fantasized about drowning my mother in shit. So how about instead of me killing Keyes for you, you go fuck yourself."

He hung up.

On The Butte, Major Silva slammed his fist down onto the old radio he had been using and turned to a mysterious shadowy figure in Helljumper armor.

"Hey Corporal McKay," he said. "Do we have some sort of anti air gun around here?"

Back on the drop ship Cortana congratulated the Chief. "Wow Chief, that was pretty ballsy. I'm actually kind of impressed that you were able to remember what Silva said a whole minute after he had said it."

"Maybe my brain is getting better," suggested the SPARTAN.

"Maybe. Here, let's give it a test. I'll say a word and you tell me the first thing that comes to mind."

"Okay."

"Here we go." Cortana began the program. "_Door_."

"_Way_," said the Chief.

"I don't mean complete the word," said Cortana. "I mean tell me the first thing that comes to mind. Okay?"

"Okay."

"All right. _Mother_."

"_Fucker_."

"We'll let that slide. _Fire._"

"Water!" The Chief made a swishing sound and waggled his fingers. Then he started. "Oops. I peed myself."

Cortana stopped. "Okay never mind. We're done. Forever."

"Fine by me, I don't know what a fire is anyways."

"Hey Keyes," said Oreo. "How do you know how to fly Covenant technology anyways?"

"Good question young lady," said Keyes as he made a u turn. "I believe that somehow I have absorbed the skills of the common alien due to the simply massive amount of Covenant spermatozoa that has been injected into my colon."

Everyone vomited, except for Cortana. "I showed him the videos," she said. "Apparently his alzhemiers made him forget before; he didn't seem to remember any of it."

"Wow," said the Chief. "Maybe alzhemiers isn't so bad after all."

When they landed they were greeted by Corporal McKay and a squad of her ODST, or Orbital Drop Shlock Tooters. Also known as Helljumpers, or assholes for short. These guys are different than the Marines, by the way; they have a clearly defined ethnicity: skinhead. They variously sneered and leered at the Chief and his crew of misfits and at the Covenant drop ship they had commandeered.

"McKay! Oh my god, you're alive!" The Chief made no move to even go near her. "This is incredible. I'm so happy."

Corporal McKay lifted her chin at him, green eyes glittering.

"You're not mad about me leaving you to die, are you?" asked the Chief. "Because you know, I did save you from being brutally murdered by an alien necrophiliac before I left you to die, so that's gotta count for something."

She made no move to respond.

"Right?"

The Helljumper corporal's lip twitched.

"Riiight baby?" the Chief made to smack her ass. Porno music began to play again.

"None of that shit!" McKay sent an armored knee into his stomach, which the Chief didn't feel at all. The porno music died awkwardly. "Boys," she said, jerking her head at the Chief, Oreo, Johnson and Keyes. "_Full cavity searches, _all around."

One of the Helljumpers leered at Oreo as the entire group paled.

"This is ridiculous," piped up Cortana on the radio. "You can't just go around doing stupid shit like this."

McKay smirked. "Major Silva's orders." She turned and patted one of the Helljumpers on the shoulder. "Make sure the Chief's is nice and deep like," she whispered into his ear. Then she walked away, letting the horrible gang rape commence.

The Helljumpers slowly circled in on the crew, donning rubber gloves and grinning evilly.

Suddenly the Chief stepped forwards. "Wait…if I promise to cooperate, will you spare the others?"

Everyone stared at him.

"Um, Chief," whispered Cortana. "This isn't a bad rape fan fiction. That's not really how it works."

"We'll do the Captain first," said one of the Helljumpers. Keyes stepped forwards jovially.

"I understand, soldier," he said. "Heck, who knows what sort of weird alien probes the Covenant might have shoved up any one of us since got to Halo. This is only expedient."

"I'm glad you approve, sir," said the Helljumper sarcastically, his scarred lip curling, even though Keyes's rank was so high above his that he could probably order him out of existence in a heartbeat. That's just how tough Helljumpers are. And by tough, I mean fucking stupid assholes.

Never the less Keyes turned around and bent over, easily pulling down his own pants to reveal his sagging adult diaper and pale muscle-less legs. A strange smell wafted from the diaper.

The Helljumpers all laughed amongst themselves, scuffling to avoid going first. Finally one was pushed forwards. The Helljumper wrinkled his scarred nose and bent forwards to gingerly undo Keyes's large safety pin.

"Smells like dead fish down here," he complained.

"Just do it Cortez," growled one of the others. The Chief watched, pained as the humiliation of his father figure began.

"All right all right." Cortez popped the pin and pulled down the diaper.

The smell was unleashed.

**"OH MY FUCKING GOD!"**

The scarred ODST trooper was literally blown backwards, his face melting instantaneously like that scene from _Raiders of the Lost Arc_, except in triple speed and a lot more stinky. His now headless body smashed into the tightly packed group of Helljumpers. The violent crash destroyed any chance they had of escape and survival. The smell washed over them, emanating in an expanding cone of death incarnate from Keyes's ass. Hair turned gray. Flesh melted. Armor corroded. Blood boiled.

"Noooooo!" one Helljumper rose from the death pit, a shambling mass of flesh of and bone and clumps of hair, his armor melting like molasses down his body. One half skeletal hand extended in shuddering agony towards the brown puckered focal point of the hell-stench. As he reached in futile rage, the very tips of his finger bones caught fire and burned down to the knuckle like matches. Then his entire body exploded.

The Chief and friends, safe as they were behind the deadly behind, could only look on in horror as the troopers were reduced to steaming pile of filth, then to a liquid, and then to a vapor which rose into the air and wafted away on Halo's whispering wind.

"Whoops. Sorry about that boys, I guess I'm a bit gassy today." Keyes pulled up his diaper and neatly re-clamped his safety pin. He turned. All that was left was a scarred patch of earth.

"Hey, where did everyone go?"

_**TO HELL. BUA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA I'M IN LEAGUE WITH SATAN. I AM THE MASTER'S OWN. I DRINK THE JUICE OF WOMEN. AS THEY LIE ALONE..**_

…_**.**_

Oh, I mean, um…Cortana said: "Uh, Captain," and her voice was wrought with awe. Nobody else could even speak. "Captain, you do know that chemical warfare is against the Geneva Convention, right?"

Keyes laughed jovially. "Well you know what they say Cortana; the older the dingle berry, the sweeter the ass—"

Everybody vomited. Again.

Later, the Chief was getting settled in his temporary quarters before the briefing for the next mission. Everyone else had also been given a separate room after McKay had come back to find out what all the screaming had been about. They had had to put Keyes into quarantine before the up-coming debriefing with Major Silva. The Chief settled comfortably into a large easy chair as Cortana's holographic image appeared on the holo-table next to him. As it turned out he was sitting in a holo-chair as well, so he fell on his ass and had to find a new one.

"Up for a little R&R?" Cortana asked in a smoky voice. "Perhaps some naked yoga? Or perhaps a long, long shower? Or perhaps, porn? Or maybe you should hook your balls up to a car battery."

"Wow those are all great ideas." The Chief began to remove his armor, but not his helmet. "But I think a _quick_ shower and some sleep would do me nicely."

"Oh, fine. I guess I'll just go monitor the shower cams."

"I'll keep that in mind." The Chief was in only his helmet and Scooby doo boxers now. By this time Cortana had apparently 'left' the room. The Chief went over to the wash basin that the Marines had somehow installed in the makeshift motel room. The room didn't even have cable. He made sure the door to the bathroom was closed all the way and then took a bird bath with the sink.

Normally a bird bath consists of using tap water to clean oneself. For the Chief, however, it's more along the lines of climbing into the sink and shitting yourself.

Finally the Chief lay down on the rock solid cheap as shit air mattress and curled into a fetal ball to begin the sleep cycle. He was still wearing his helmet.

He found himself in a ghostly, mist filled room. It looked strangely like a gay crack house but he couldn't be sure. Of course by gay crack house I mean a sentient house that loves gay ass crack, not a crack house for gay people.

That would just be offensive.

"Chiiiiiief. Chiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiief!"

A figure arose from the mist. It was Cercil! The alien's flesh was charred, the remnants of armor, bandages, and bad surgery turning his already mangled body into a horror show. Curled, molten lava dripping horns protruded from his head, and small bat wings were growing out from his shoulders.

"Cercil." The Chief smiled grimly. "So I see you're alive after all."

"Nice underpants," said the alien. "I dig Scooby Doo."

The Chief looked down at his massive voluminous boxers. "Why, thank you."

"Just calling them like I see them," said Cercil. "So, do you remember my—I mean, your mom's advices three?"

The Chief thought about it. "She said that I would meet three enemies: my shadow, my temptation, and my creator. She also said that one would help me, one would fight me, and one would have sex with me."

"Which one do you think I am?" asked Cercil, picking at his nails.

"I don't know." The Chief scratched his head and found that his helmet was still on in the dream. Weird. "You could be any of the three."

"_Any_?" asked Cercil carefully. "Even that last one?"

The Chief shrugged. "I don't know. Fan fiction can get pretty weird. Hmm. I bet Johnson is my enemy. He's black after all."

"I like your logic," said Cercil encouragingly.

The Chief looked at him. "You're being awfully nice for Cercil. Are you sure you are who you say you are?"

Cercil looked around shiftily. "Of course not! Why would I disguise myself as someone else? I mean…shit penis cock. Fart jew."

"Well that's more like it…" The Chief stroked his armored chin.

Suddenly the door behind them shook and rattled. The Chief jumped and spun around. The door was old, decrepit, and dirty, and someone was banging on it as if they really wanted to get inside.

"What's that!" The Chief turned, but Cercil was gone. For a moment he thought he saw a giant talking ant standing in where the alien had been. Then a crack appeared in the door as whatever was behind it began to push harder.

"No!" The Chief raised his hands in front of his visor as the door flew open. "NO!"

For the briefest moment, a lithe yet hard and strong silhouette was framed in the doorway.

The Chief awoke soaked in sweat. He shot up from the bed, sheets tangled around his legs. He sighed as breathing returned to normal and slowly lowered himself back down. The back of his head smashed into the wall and he swore. He flailed his arms to disentangle himself from the sheets while rubbing his sore head, causing him to fall sideways off the bed and onto his elbows and knees. He screamed in pain, then hopped upright still wrapped in the sheets only to smash his knees against the end table. He growled in rage again and lunged forwards, wrapping his teeth around the handle of his discarded combat knife. He methodically cut the sheets to tatters around him with his mouth-knife until they fell away.

"There. That's better," he said through his teeth. The Chief ran his hands through the air on top of his helmet and blinked the sleep from his eyes. Suddenly the door bell rang.

"FUCK." The Chief dropped the knife and it pierced his toe. Irritated, he wrenched the blade free and threw it across the room where it embedded itself in the wall, straight through the mandatory portrait of Major Silva that every room was outfitted with. He stomped over to the door and opened it without bothering to get dressed.

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT?" he screamed.

It was Corporal McKay. She had traded in her armor for simple fatigues. She had buzz cut of orange hair, and her green eyes gleamed. She has green eyes.

The Chief looked down at his current state of undress and his massive morning wood. Well, comparatively massive.

To a spider's clitoris.

"Have a good nap?" asked McKay icily. "I hope you could sleep well with the lives so many men on your conscience."

"You wouldn't be alive to accuse me like that if they'd had a chance to use grenades," the Chief shot back.

McKay looked miffed. "I was talking about my Helljumpers getting killed by farts. You know they haven't been allowed to use frags since Hiroshima."

"Oh. Actually, it was Keyes who killed your Helljumpers. I had absolutely nothing to do with it."

"So you say." She looked down at his underwear. "Hm. I can't believe I ever fell for you for ten humorous seconds, Chief."

"Oh, you mean that time you offered to have sex with me for saving your life? I thought that was pretty whorish, myself."

"You shut up!" McKay drew herself up to her full height. "Mark my words Chief, one day your crimes will lose you somebody you actually care about!"

"I doubt that," said the Chief. "I hate everyone."

With that he closed the door in her face.

"Anything to win an argument, huh Chief?" asked Cortana as the he put his armor back on.

"Well you know. The best bluffs have some element of truth to them."

He went back to the door and opened it when he was fully dressed. McKay was still there, looking sheepish.

"I forgot," she said. "The reason I came down was to escort you to Major Silva's office. He'd like another word with you."

The Chief stared at her for a long, long time. "Who are you?"

McKay ignored this and took him on a tour through the rest of the facility. In one hallway they found that a few of the ODST had actually managed not only to defeat a single Covenant Grunt, but had actually captured it and assigned it to mop the floors.

"Wow, an entire grunt! You ODSTs really are bad ass," commented the Chief.

He noticed that they had also put a dog collar on the alien and were forcing it to wear a panty hose on its head.

"That's some pretty brutal treatment," he amended in hushed tones.

"We have a zero tolerance policy for terrorists," said McKay.

"What."

They also came across a group of ODSTs crowded around a single Marine. The scarred soldiers were laughing and talking to the Marine, who seemed to be the center of attention and was barely visible through the crowd.

The Chief peered through the forest of heads. "Huh. Isn't that Mendoza? Again?"

McKay nodded. "We found him in a dingy motel room surrounded by Covenant recording equipment and covered in rainbow of strange fluids. The medics managed to plug him up. He's pretty popular around The Butte." Her eyes narrowed.

The Chief rolled his eyes and followed her to the Major's office. They found it guarded by two very tough and scarred Helljumpers.

"Corporal McKay presenting Master Chief Petty Officer for the Major," said McKay sharply, saluting.

The short Helljumper returned her salute lazily. "What kind of name is Master Chief Petty Officer?" he asked, sneering at the Chief.

"Oh don't know," said the Chief warmly, "but it was pretty good sounding out on your mother's lips, right before I blasted them with my man chowder"

The other Helljumper guard doubled over with laughter, his tiny wings flapping. "Oh my god. Nice one Chief."

"Thanks." The Chief looked at him. "Damn, you look kind of familiar."

The Helljumper shrugged, his giant lava dripping horns bouncing up and down with the motion. "I get that a lot. I guess I just have a familiar face."

The Chief squinted at the rumpled, bloody face with no teeth and large pieces of twine keeping it on the Helljumper's head. Blood red eyes peered out at him and the smell of sulfur and hell choked his senses.

"Huh. I guess so."

The Chief thought nothing of it and continued on into the office, McKay shutting the door behind him. A few seconds later blood began too ooze from under the crack of the door. McKay blinked at it.

The Chief found himself staring at the back of Major Silva's silver haired head. The Major was wearing a well tailored silver suit. I'm really milking this silver joke. He used his feet to spin his big silver executive power chair around to face the Chief.

"Ah, Master Chief Petty Officer John 117 SPARTAN Mk. II." Silva stroked his white beard. "Did you have a good rest?"

"Uh, yeah, it was pretty cool." The Chief looked around nervously.

"I'm happy…" the Major's face twitched "that Keyes was able to arrive intact. I can't say the same those ODST boys, though. Since we're all breathing in their remains right now.

Cortana laughed, apparently having re-downloaded onto the Chief. "Hey, he's right; I thought I smelled the smell of a bunch of limp-dick poser assholes."

"Have you given any more thought to my offer?" asked Silva.

"He means the one where he offered you money in exchange for assassinating Keyes," whispered Cortana.

"You said you gave us a closed channel for that!" hissed the Chief accusingly.

"I did say that," said Cortana. Then she laughed.

"Bitch."

The Chief turned his attention back to Silva. "Why, yes. I do remember that."

"Well good. I can't say I'm happy with your decision not to kill a superior officer, but I suppose I can't blame you for being an ass sniffing shit eating inhuman blood hound, can I?"

"Oh I don't know," said the Chief. "I'm getting pretty open to the idea of killing a superior officer right now."

"Be that as it may," said Silva sharply, "I called you here to rant at you about how useless and shitty SPARTANS are."

"Can I get the abridged version? I'm in no mood for some long, drawn out, obnoxious re-write."

"Well then maybe you shouldn't have opened this story!" retorted Silva. "I mean…shouldn't have come into my office."

"_What? _ You ordered me in here." The Chief crossed his arms petulantly.

"Be that as it may. Are you familiar with a man named Charles Darwin, Chief?"

"Yes."

"No, probably not, because he never went to war."

"Yes I am."

"He invented the theory of natural selection: that those species not strong enough to survive would eventually die out."

"Actually," said the Chief, "The ancient Greeks had a similar idea to his. So he didn't really invent it per se."

Silva ignored him. "The SPARTANs died out, Chief. You're the last of dying breed. You, like the others, are a freak. A failed experiment."

The camera slowly zoomed in on Silva's silver but also gender ambiguous face. "The Spartans are a bad joke, Chief. Freaks. An experiment to see if men and women could be turned into machines. They failed. You failed. Why, you never even knew your father. And you called yourself a man, and they called you soldiers. They failed. You're not even worth the money the brass put into you, nor the time they spent to raise you. You weren't raised to manhood. You weren't taught how to hold courage in your heart or how to love a woman. You were _manufactured_ for strength. You were manufactured to kill. You are not human. You are not a machine. You are less than human, less than a gun or the bullet that the trigger sparks. An iron insect with a day long life span. Humanity does not need you. This mission does not need you. For all the metal, sweat, and money running in your veins, you are _useless_."

He stopped.

The Chief stood there, motionless. "Yeah," he said. "But at least I can actually throw grenades."

Silva blinked. "YOU SON OF A BITCH!" He jumped up, a pistol appearing in his hand. McKay rushed forwards and held him back.

"No sir! Calm down! It's not worth it!"

"YOU SON OF A BITCH!" Silva fired. A round exploded against the ceiling. "DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MANY MEN WE'VE LOST TO FRIENDLY GRENADES! I'LL COURT MARSHAL YOU FOR THIS, CHIEF! THERE WON'T BE A RANK OR FILE FUCKED DEAD IN THE ROAD ON SOME BACKWARDS PLANET FAR AWAY ENOUGH FROM ME! I'LL MAKE YOU FORGET THE DAY YOU PUT THAT FUCKING HELMET ON!"

The Chief turned around, walked out the door, and closed it behind him.

Then he slipped on the pile of blood and guts that had been the short Helljumper guard. The tall one was nowhere to be seen.

"God damn it, who left their bloody remains here!"

Elsewhere in The Butte, a series of character vignettes were occurring. At least until I hit 100 pages on this bitch.

Sergeant Sgt. Johnson wrapped his sweaty steely fingers around the 120 pound dumbbell, ebony muscles flexing tightly as his foot thick biceps strained with effort. He curled until his large knuckles brushed against the front of his sweat stained dark green t-shirt. Then he let his arm uncurl to the gym floor as if he had all the time in the world. His muscles strained with tension and he gritted his large white teeth, sweat dripping from the bridge of his nose.

Then he did it again. A thousand. More. Times.

"Pretty impressive," said a deep voice from behind him. Johnson whirled. It was a tall, muscular black man with a shaved head and tribal tattoos on various parts of his body. Johnson looked him up and down.

"Well goddamn, I didn't know there were any otha' niggas in this crib. You run with the Crips or the mother fucking Bloods?" The black sergeant let his hand drift down to where a Crips bandanna was wrapped around his ankle.

"I uh…what? I'm a Helljumper," said the black man confusedly. He held out his hand. "The name's Keith. Keith Kinkaid."

Johnson eyed him suspiciously.

"Nice to uh…meet…you…?" Kinkaid took his hand back.

The pearly whites of Johnson's eyes widened. "So you think you too fiiine to speak the way you were born, nigga? Is that what this shit is?"

Keith's eyes narrowed. "I'm from Ethiopia. I wasn't raised in one of your 'cribs.'"

"You fucking oreo!" rasped Johnson. "I bet yo' mom smoked white dicks everyday, and they nuts dribbled down and got absorbed into yo' bald ass brain case mother fucker!"

Keith pushed Johnson, hard, almost knocking him off his bench. "Not all black people are from the ghetto you jackass!"

The Sergeant stood up and raised an eyebrow, flexing his gigantic muscles. "Bitch…don't be playing with me. You know what I think?"

Keith rolled his eyes. "What, exactly, do you think?"

"I don't think you're black _or_ white," said Johnson. "No brother would ever play at this shit!"

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"I think you…are a Covenant!"

DUN DUN DUN

"That's retarded." Keith turned to go, picking up his gym bag. "Go fuck yourself, Johnson. Not every black person has to be a fucking stereotype like you."

"Yeah, that's right!" Johnson made what he thought was an ebonic hand gesture at Keith's back. "Keep on running mother fucker."

He turned back to his 120 lb. But then suddenly Johnson stopped, his large nostrils flaring. He stood up straight. "But how…did you know my name?"

Keith Kinkaid stopped dead in his tracks half-way across the gym, duffle bag in one hand. He turned his head slowly, black eye glittering.

"Oh well, I...RELEASE THE GRUNTS!"

The large black man twisted and threw the duffle bag through the air, straight at Johnson's head. As it soared it opened from the inside, and three Spec-Ops grunts burst out in mid air. Each of them held two plasma rifles in either hand. They opened fire.

"Oh shit!" Johnson dove for cover. The plasma melted his workout equipment. Johnson scooped up his own gym bag and rolled away as the Grunts landed in a spear head formation. They turned to track Johnson as he ran for the showers.

"Foolish human!" Kinkaid tore off his own face. Beneath was the face of a dark skinned Spec-Ops Elite! The fake black flesh writhed, splitting apart to let the huge alien free. The Spec Ops Elite activated his plasma sword and pointed it at Johnson's retreating form.

"Foool! You're butte shall be ours!"

Johnson bowed his head as the streams of plasma projectiles began to creep ever closer to his feet. He reached with both hands into his bag, turned, and pushed off fully into mid air! The bag fell away to reveal a pair of mother fucking gats!

"Oh shit!" The Elite dove for cover as the bulletz ripped the shit out of the gym. The grunts were shredded to a bloody pulp, and Johnson spun in the air to land gracefully amongst the carnage. He aimed for where he had last seen the Elite enter cover, but he seemed to have cloaked.

"Damn." Johnson put the gats back in the trunk of his Escalade. The Elite was long gone. The black Sergeant looked up at the paisley pale yellow light fixtures of the gym, then turned on the spot as if he was watching a helicopter fly over head.

"Shit," he said gravely to nobody in particular, "just got real."

And somewhere else in my butte…

Oreo was practicing in a makeshift shooting range. The paper cut outs of alien creatures were all perforated with bullet holes in the thighs, biceps, and left shoulders. There were no head shots. Mendoza was also practicing. His weapon of choice was a gun of some kind that had vaguely phallic qualities.

Oreo aimed the giant sniper rifle down the range and popped off a single shot. It tore an entire stacked row of targets in half in a cloud of shredded paper.

"Not bad girl friend," said Mendoza gaily. He squeezed off a couple of 'rounds' from his phallic gun. They all landed squarely on the crotch-area's of the cutouts.

"Yeah. Um…not so bad yourself, there."

"Thanks," simpered Mendoza. "I like to keep my priorities bent."

"Don't you mean straight?" asked Oreo.

The gay Mexican Marine looked at her. "No."

"Wow. Just wow," said Oreo. She continued to practice. At that moment a large group of Helljumpers entered the range, talking and joking and obviously drunk. Oreo kept an eye on them as she continued to practice, but by the time she had finished her clip the group had surrounded her and Mendoza. She had a bad feeling about this.

"Weeeeell lookie what we have here boys," said the biggest of the scarred four, leering at her. "Looks like we got a young tender soldier all alone here at the range."

Oreo's fists bunched. What the hell was this bullshit? She opened her mouth to speak, but another Helljumper interrupted her.

"Haw haw! They're just lookin for the right _meat!_" He grabbed his crotch enthusiastically.

Oreo's finger twitched towards the butt of her pistol.

"We should show 'em what _real men can do_," said another.

She flicked the safety off of her pistol.

"Yeah," said the leader, reaching out with a groping hand. Oreo tensed as the man reached past her and grabbed Mendoza by the collar. He drew the Mexican marine into a deep, extremely erotic and scarred kiss. Oreo's jaw dropped and she watched in horror as the other ODST circled him and began pulling at their pants. Mendoza seemed to be enjoying himself.

"Well guys," she said. "I'm gonna…go. Seeya."

She ran for the door, only to collide with another Helljumper as he entered the room.

"Gah!" she stumbled back. "What the hell!"

"Sorry," said the scarred man.

Oreo clutched his shoulder. "Oh thank god! You've gotta stop this! It's illegal, we'll all get discharged."

The Helljumper looked at the gay gangbang just beginning. He grinned. "I'll get right on that." With that he skipped past her, undoing his belt buckle with obvious glee.

"Goddamn it Mendoza," Oreo muttered under her breath. "What the hell is up with you?"

She angrily opened the door and stormed out. This Butte was completely unprofessional. Not looking where she was going, she immediately ran into yet another Helljumper. Oreo stumbled backwards, cursing under her breath. She rounded on the man.

"Oh, and I guess you're here for the gangbang too!"

"No," said the Helljumper. "I'm here for the COW WHORE MILKING FETISH ORGY." Suddenly he ripped off his familiar face! It was Cercil Saltstein!

"Gaaaaah!" Oreo jumped backwards, fumbling to pull her pistol out. Cercil advanced on her, claws outstretched. But as Oreo tripped her large breasts bounced, one smashing into the alien's hand.

"Agh!" He reeled back, hand crushed and bleeding. "Cow _SLUT_!"

Oreo finally pulled out her pistol. In her other hand she held a radio, which she flipped on. "Alert! Alert!" she screamed while leveling the pistol at Cercil. "Our butte is under attack! Repeat, our Butte is under attack!"

"Foolish bovine!" Cercil snarled. "We have already disable your butte's communications systems. "And Kit Fisto the Special Operations Elite has no doubt already killed your precious 'Sergeant Sgt. Johnon.' The Mr. Keither K. Kinkaid plan no doubt worked perfectly!"

Oreo gaped at him. "Who? Kit…Fisto? Isn't that a Jedi from Star Wars?"

"Ha, no, what are you fucking stupid," laughed Cercil nervously. He looked guiltily off to the side. "Yeah, well, the alien name bank was broke. It was that or just pull another human name out of the hat. How do you think 'Commander Darren' got his name?"

"I guess that makes sense," Oreo shrugged, then aimed the pistol at Cercil's head and fired. He ducked, the bullet flying over his head and right in between the eyes of the Marine that had been about to sneak up on him. His head exploded.

"Wow, nice shot," said the alien sarcastically. "I guess women can't drive _or_ shoot."

"You son of a bitch! That's the last time you ever talk down to me!" Oreo unsheathed her combat knife and leapt at Cercil. Cercil whipped out a large frozen penis with a filed down tip and parried her attack. They exchanged strikes, Cercil using the frozen penis like the end of spear. He nicked at Oreo's cheek and she flinched in disgust. Luckily for her however, the frozen weapon began to thaw. Her combat knife cut through the dick and slashed across Cercil's wrist. The alien anti Christ screamed in pain, clutching his wrist as the dick fell from limp (lol) fingers. Bright purple blood sprayed out from the wound and between his fingers where he tried to stem the flow.

"Surrender Cercil!" she shouted, raising the knife above her head.

Suddenly the door behind her opened. It was Mendoza! He waddled out, legs bowed and pants stained, wiping something from the corner of his mouth. A crowd of very satisfied Helljumpers filed out behind him. Oreo gaped.

"Aha!" Cercil rose to his full height, the blood flow stopping. He towered over everyone as dark power began to grow around him. "An offensive gay stereotype," he boomed. "My powers…GROW!"

"Quick!" said Oreo, turning to Mendoza. "Don't do or say _anything_, and we might be able to stop him!"

"Okay girlfriend," said Mendoza. Then he reached into his pocket for something. Time entered slow motion as Oreo leapt towards him, mouth forming a scream.

"Noooo!"

Mendoza pulled something out…it was…

Cercil Salstein grinned.

It was an apple-tini.

An explosion of hellish fire erupted from Cercil's body, turning the gangbanging Helljumpers into ash. All the skin exploded from Mendoza's body, then his bones exploded, leaving only the large quantity's of semen he had ingested to splatter to the floor. Oreo was unhurt, for she had managed to duck low enough to the ground that the fire had only singed her hair and burnt her armor.

"Mua ha ha ha!" bellowed Cercil. "Again, you fools provide fuel for my evil super powers! I shall now unleash my ultimate attack on your butte!"

He rose into the air in an action pose, bright red and white lines flickering behind him. Oreo got up and stared at the floating alien in horror as everything became an anime. This was, of course, the worst possible thing that could ever happen and also one of the signs of the apocalypse.

"As I just said I will now unleash my special attack on you fools! Ha-ha!" said Cercil. "Ha-ha, I see that you are terrified of my special attack, ha-ha! Prepare to face the wrath of my anger, ha-ha!"

Annoying Japanese rock music began to play as he inhaled a large breath of air.

"JEW FUCK CUNT—"

"STOP RIGHT THERE!" screamed a familiarly retarded voice. It was the Chief! He barreled down the hallway, green armor shining bright, and leapt into the air in his own action pose. Green and white lines flickered behind him (that's how you know he's going to win!)

"Nooo!" Cercil cried out, turning in mid air to strike another action pose at the Chief. The Spartan warrior was almost upon him.

"I am not for die!" screamed Cercil. "You will die!"

"HMPH!" said the Chief. He drew his fist back, and green energy boiled around him. "SPARTAWN-**PAAAAAUUUNCH!"**

His fist slammed into the alien's face. Cercil exploded! Black satanic energy dispersed through the room, along with fragments of the alien's flesh and bones. A wave of simultaneously on fire and shattering debris exploded throughout the area with a deafening crack!

The Chief descended lightly to his feet next to Oreo, who had watched all this with some amazement.

"You alright, Sakura?" he asked her.

"What?" Oreo raised an eyebrow at him.

"Um…" the Chief scratched his head. "I mean…whatever your name is. Jeez, what just happened?"

"I don't know, Chief," said Cortana on the base's speakers. "But there's no time to figure it out. We have to go save Keyes before the aliens get to him. I'm monitoring the rest of the butte—the Marines have managed to not all die, and the Helljumpers have actually killed about one and a half grunts! We're driving them out, and Johnson's vitals are fine too. Keyes is still in his cabin though."

"What about Major Silva?" asked Oreo.

"I don't know," said the Chief. "For all the metal, sweat and money running through his veins I think he'll be fine."

"You took that, uh, little lecture he gave you pretty well," said Cortana. "That guy could give Hannibal lessons!"

"Thanks," said the Chief,

"I wasn't congratulating you," said Cortana. "I would have preferred it if you'd cried. So I could record it, and then overlay that audio to my saved videos of Mendoza's gangbang and subsequent vaporization. Because your pain is my pleasure."

Oreo frowned at Cortana, or rather at the Chief. "I'm surprised you and Cercil aren't best friends."

"Oh we are," said Cortana. "We chat on MSN messenger all the time."

The Chief clapped his hands to his face plate. "Dear God! I always knew that MSN was the tool of the devil!"

Elsewhere in the butte, Keyes was at his personal computer. The room was dim, the door locked, with the faint light of the computer screen flickering on the wall. Balled up tissues were scattered around the desktop, next to smears of Lubriderm and empty Kleenex boxes. The aging Captain clicked frantically with one hand, his crusty mouse shedding layers of dried semen with every input. Keyes's pants were around his ankles, gnarled boner protruding out from between his stick like thighs. He pumped away viscously as he gaped at the screen. Suddenly he came, and his dick made a sound like a dry firing AK 47 in Counter Strike. Gasping rapturously, Keyes slumped over the desk with his face on his sticky keyboard.

For a time he lay there. Slowly he regained control of himself and straightened up, gray eyes cold and face drawn. He opened his mouth.

"I know you're there," said Captain Jacob Keyes to the darkness.

Something stirred in the shadows behind him. A flash of gold armor.

"For how long?" replied deep, warbling voice from the shadows.

"After about my fourth climax," said Keyes. "You really could have a said something, especially before I started going to the child porn websites."

A soft laugh drifted from the shadows and Commander Darren stepped out. In one hand he held a plasma pistol.

"We're not so different, you and I," he began, casually raising the gun to point at Keyes. "We are both leaders to our people. We have both sent thousands of men to die for our orders."

"Eh? What's that sonny?" croaked Keyes. "Speak up now?"

"I said, we're not so different," said Darren calmly.

"You fart a shrimplet?" said Keyes confusedly.

"What? No. I mean…."

"The difference between us," continued Keyes as if he had understood after all "is that you will go to any lengths to achieve your goals. I care about the lives of my men."

"Uh, not really," said Darren. "I actually care about my Elites a lot. Their lives matter to me, yours—"

"What? That's not your line." Keyes looked confusedly off to his right. "God damn it Bay, you told me this was Act One! I never should have taken this contract with you. I could have worked with Harrison Ford on that Indiana Jones movie!"

"Of course it's my line," said Darren, looking slightly disgusted. "Actually I take that back. You are absolutely nothing like me and completely insane to boot." He raised the pistol. "I'm going to kill you now."

Suddenly the door slammed open! It was Major Silva. He peeked his head in.

"Oh, hey guys he said." He saw what was going on. Darren and Keyes gaped at him.

Silva's eyes lit up. "Oh hey Darren. Well…never mind. I'll just be going now." He ran away.

"FUCK." Keyes dove for cover as Darren fired, hitting his computer. Sparks and smoke filled the room as Keyes scrambled behind his bed, his pants still off, wiry ass squirming in the pale light from the open door. Darren took careful aim at Keyes.

"Your destruction is the will of gods," he intoned. "And we are their instrument." His fingers tightened on the trigger.

Suddenly the Chief tackled him from out of literally nowhere. Funnily enough, his tackle actual was launched from such a direction that he would have had to sneak into the room, edged around the computer, and walked right in front of both Keyes and Darren in order to set it up.

But screw that I'm no director. Leave common sense to the Michael Bays of the world. Or maybe not.

"Remember reach!" hollered the Spartan as he wrestled the gun from Darren's hands.

"Agh! Filthy human heretic!" snarled Darren. The gun went off, hitting the Chief full in the face. His shields flared, blinding everyone momentarily from the flash in the very dark room.

"God damn it!" Darren jumped up as the Chief rubbed at his visor. He sprinted towards the door.

"After him!" shouted Keyes. "He saw me log on to ! I mean, he saw valuable military intelligence!"

;

"It's too late," said Cortana over the intercom. "He's long gone by now; I just detected a stealth ship taking off. My gaydar says there's at least one self-denying bromancer on board, that must be him."

"How many were there?" asked the Chief as he helped Keyes to his feet. "Were they all accounted for?"

"It was a small task force of three Elites and three Grunts. Darren and Kit Fisto tappear to have escaped, and Cercil is dead. Again. The strange thing is I have no idea how they knew where we were.

At that moment Major Silva strolled casually into the room, again.

"If you're done here Commander Darren," he said, "It'd be best if you leave."

"Sir?" asked the Chief confusedly.

"Because," continued Major Silva without noticing anyone. "I told you where the butte was and gave you the access codes to the base. Now I will be in charge again."

He blinked when he realized who was watching. The Chief cocked his head.

"Uh…just talking to myself again," said the Major. "How are you guys? Fight off that alien bastard okay?"

"I guess." The Chief looked suspiciously at Silva. "You know, I can't help but be a little suspicious of you. It's a bit strange that you would walk in _juuuust _after Cortana said something about how it was strange that the Covenant knew where we were."

"Did you not just hear him confess!" spluttered Cortana indignantly.

"Hey now Cortana," said the Chief, holding up a hand. "This is man's work here. You know all the greatest detectives were men!"

"'Atta boy!" said Keyes, pulling up his pants.

"So you guys didn't hear anything I said?" asked Silva.

The Chief scratched his head. "You said something? Was it about me?"

Keyes looked around confusedly. "Who are you people!"

**DisciplineFreak39421: **Checked live feed from Mendoza's helmet, fucking awesome.

**Sanghungly: **oh my god I must see

**DisciplinFreak39421: **I will send email.

**Sanghungly: **kkk. How is Chief? Did you try the thing with the electrodes that I suggested?

**DisciplineFreak39421**: He was mad at me for hrs

**JKeyes has entered the chat room.**

**JKeyes**: Any kids my age here? Want to hang out at my place? I have Super Smash Bros.

**Sanghungly**: Oh my god I love that game!

**JKeyes: **Cool. Are you home alone/

**DisciplineFreak39421**: lol

**Sanghungly: **I was just going to ask you that. How old are you?

**JKeyes:** 8

**Sanghungly**: Oh my god! I am exactly eight years old too! Want to come over to my house? I have Super Smash Bros. I mean, I also have Super Smash Bros.

**JKeyes: **What?

**Sanghungly: **Is it okay if we play naked? Because I always play naked.

**Sanghungly:** And erect.

**JKeyes: **Funny.

**Sanghungly: **I am going to rape you.

**JKeyes has signed off.**

**Sanghungly: **Well damn it. I got so nervous, and I blew it. My first date with an eight year old.

**DisciplineFreak39421: **You're almost as stupid as the Chief. Are you guy related or something?

…

**Sanghungly is now idle.**

…

**Sanghungly: **No…


	8. Chapter 4 1 of 2

**Chapter 4**

The Silent Cartographer

Or

_**The Exposition and Plot Set Up Chapter Because Nothing Interesting Happens in this Level and I Blew My Characterization Load on the Last Chapter**_

"_I'd like to Silent her Cartographer if you know what I mean."-Barack Obama_

_(A/N: This episode will have a tender sweet love making theme.)_

Repetition. It is generally agreed upon in the writing community that repetition, to a certain degree, is a good thing. I am of course out to prove they are dead wrong. Have you ever read _To Build A Fire_? I did, at school. It was the stupidest thing I have ever read. If I was that asshole, I would have brought my RV. What a dipshit. Well anyways.

Generic Beach Landing Scenes: ever since that incredibly hardcore WW2 movie about D-Day (fuck Steven Spielberg and his robot pedophile bait,) beach landing sequences have been the staple of every single mother fucking video game or movie about war ever made. I do not jest. Even a game about space aliens and space zombies and disturbingly naked tiny computer-ladies (MACROPHILIA) has a beach landing sequence. Fucking _Spore _had a beach landing sequence. Hell, when I went down to the beach to look at children playing there was an honest-to-god beach landing going on right there! Motherfucker.

Well I'm done. Let's move on.

John hung with one hand to the outside of the Pelican, the wind whipping at his body and flailing his limbs about in a storm of spastic retardation. If this were Halo Reach he might have been dramatically squatting at the bay door whilst saying dramatic things, but it was not, this is REAL LIFE FOLKS, and hanging off a the side of an airplane _fucking hurts._

The marines watched the Chief flail with a mixture of fear, amusement, and um, a third emotion. The funny thing was though that the Marines were so obviously doomed that they were almost unable to have emotions; it's like, their death was so close on the timeline that it over lapped with the present and they were, in a sense, already dead at the same time that they were alive.

John was going to go on this mission alone because Keyes had gone off to find a weapons stash which was definitely a weapons stash and not anything else at all, seriously. Also Sergeant Johnson had gone to Cleveland to confront his family about his race. Oh, except Oreo was with him, so actually the Chief wasn't going it alone at all, but I'm too lazy to go back and edit the paragraph. And of course Cortana was there, but fuck her.

"The Covenant believe that what they call the 'Silent Cartographer' is some sort of map, which will lead them straight to Halo's porn dungeon," said Cortana grimly.

John cocked his rifle seriously and looked grimly at a grim horizon of grim resolve. It really was like Reach! Oreo sat next to him with a grim look on her face.

"What kind of porn are we talking about her?" the Chief asked in a super gravely and grim voice.

"Serious pr0n, Chief," said Cortana with equal, or perhaps more grimness in her voice. "If the Covenant get their hands on this, there'll be no stopping them. Or their grimness."

"I won't let them," said the Chief with so much grimness in his voice that at least seven angels lost their wings. "I'll jack off first!" Oreo looked at him disgustedly.

"What about Cercil?" she asked. "Could you find any information on the Covenant's BattleNet?"

"According to a few reports he was found masturbating in the gym shower," said Cortana.

"So he is alive again. That sick bastard!" the Chief. Tried to clench his fists grimly angrily, but he was hanging off of a Pelican with his fists so he could not. Clench his fists that is. Remember, consistency.

Cortana laughed at him and his piteous impotency like the bitch she was. "Actually Chief I'm just shitting you. I have no idea what the Covenant are trying to find here. That was just some bullshit I made up to mess with you."

Oreo and Cortana burst out laughing. Oreo stifled herself when the Chief glared at her.

"God I am not looking forwards to the beach landing," said one of the Marines. "I hear that tons of people die in scenes like these."

The Chief patted him on the shoulder. "Yeah. Because you have so much life ahead of you."

"I know." The Marine looked down at photo of a pregnant woman clutched in his hand. "One day I'll see Maria again, and my son… he's three now."

"Uh huh. Sure." By this time the Chief had already moved on deeper into the Pelican to sit next to Oreo.

"So, Sakura," he said, casually draping his arm over her seat. "You're eighteen, right?"

"Why do you keep calling me Sakura?" asked Oreo.

"Oh, right, cookie. Sorry." The Chief's helmet slowly tilted down as he began to drool over her breasts, apparently noticing them for the first time in a while.

"Uh huh." Oreo gently pushed the Chief off of her. She sighed. "I'm glad that Sergeant Johnson isn't here; he'd spend the whole trip screaming about Tad the Pelican Pilot and insulting him with similes to white grocery products."

"Yeah that's good. A bunch of gangbangers wouldn't be much use in a military operation like this anyways."

"Gangbangers?"

The Chief turned his visor to her. "Why, of course Lieutenant. You know that wherever nigroids go more are sure to follow."

Oreo's eyes crossed. "Uh…why?"

"Because," he said. "They secrete pheromones through their large black sweat glands, which is how they coordinate their gang rapes of white women."

"You've been letting Keyes read you bed times stories again haven't you?

The Chief sniffed disapprovingly. "Bed times stories? Don't be ridiculous…it's called _science._"

"We're coming in for a landing!" screamed Tad the Pelican pilot over the radio suddenly. Everyone jumped. Vanilla ice playing at eight hundred decibels blasted over the radio, making everyone that was patched in not only deaf but also very, very white.

"VIP!" slavered Tad.

"Yes. Vip indeed." The Chief threw up south side.

"You guys are such wiggers," said Cortana.

"Cortana!" screamed the Chief, his left hand suddenly zipping away from Oreo's left tit where it had been creeping towards. "I thought you were gone; I couldn't believe you had actually shut up for more than a half a second."

"Sometimes I just have nothing to say," said Cortana. "Your bullshit just kind of speaks for itself."

As they were arguing Tad the Pelican pilot landed on the beach. The Covenant were deeply entrenched, buried behind walls of energy shields and Grunt flesh. They began to fire at the ship so the Chief and Oreo had to retreat deeper inside, even as the Pelican came level with the ground. The wind whipped up a sand storm that stung everyone's eyes. Tad radioed in again.

"Yo my bruthas! Captain Keyes asked me to play this CD for him while you niggas beat they asses UP!"

He left the radio on as everyone piled out, ducking behind rocks for cover as the Covenant unloaded loads and loads of plasma on them. They could hear him searching for the CD.

"Damn this shit ass bitch. Aw, here it be." Tad inserted a disk into the player. "Huh. That's weird. This is a DVD." Everyone listened as their cover-rocks began to melt under the constant plasma fire. The Chief and Oreo exchanged bemused looks.

"What is this shit? 'Twelve and Under 6 - Teeny Boppers?' Muthafucka this is some sick shit!" A few moments passed. "Ah, here it is!"

A Marine's head exploded in a flash of plasma and his body crumpled to the ground. Everyone stared at it. At that moment the _Ride of the Valkyries_ by Wagener blared out of the Pelican's giant stereo speakers, which had been chained onto the wings.

Sophistication!

"All right you big ass mothers," squeaked Tad on the radio. "Let's kick this shit."

Everyone yelled out a battle cry and charged up the sandy beach. "Remember Reach!" screamed the Chief as he grabbed Oreo by the arm and pulled her out into open fire where she was almost shot in the head.

"Ah!" Oreo broke away and ducked low to sprint for the next patch of rocks. A Marine with half a face stumbled into her, throwing them both off balance. She bore the man to the ground as a hail of fire streaked over their heads and into an approaching rank of more Marines, all of whom died screaming. Oreo scrambled towards the water where a few rocks awaited, dragging the man by the collar as she did so. It was only when she propped him up behind cover that she realized he was already dead. Oreo swore and slammed her fist into her leg in frustration, only to realize painfully that there was a plasma wound there. It was almost squarely on her armor plated thigh; only the edge of burn had crossed over to sear her fatigues. She un-holstered her MA5B and peered out from behind the rock.

The beach was a slaughter house. The carpeting of dead bodies was so thick that she could barely make out any sand—except of course for the lone sand castle on the edge of the water, where a single Marine lay prostrate, his hands reaching up in clawed agony to clutch at twin sandy spires while his blood drained into a tiny moat.

Back at the head of the beach, the bunkered down Covenant were focusing their fire on the largest boulder, behind which the Chief and the few surviving Marines were taking cover. Indeed, it appeared that almost every single soldier in the landing party was already dead in the span of less than a minute.

The attack had been something close to a worst ever record of failure for the UNSC Marine Corps, comparable only to the mass hysteria 'Game Over Man' of '86.

Anyways, the rock was glowing red hot on the side that the Covenant were blasting. The Chief waved to Oreo just as a Marine stuck his head out to check the Covenant's fire. The stupid Marine was instantly cheese-grated with plasma and the SPARTAN kicked the body down the hill in disgust.

"Cookie," he radioed in. "We're under heavy fire!" The Chief watched as a plasma grenade bounced over the top of Oreo's rock and fell on her head. She tore the helmet off and flung it into the ocean, inadvertently breaking radio contact.

"Chief, I've lost radio contact with her," said Cortana. "She's probably dead. You should move on without her."

"No I can see her right now. She's alive." The Chief waved again. Oreo waved back irritably.

"Regardless," said Cortana, "you can honor her memory by forgetting about that bitch completely."

Oreo shouted something but ride of the valkyries was so loud that the Chief couldn't understand her. "God damn it Tad!" he cursed at the Pelican, which was circling overhead blaring the music. At that moment a plasma grenade rolled down the hill past their rock, much too far away to pose any threat to the humans.

"NOOOO!" screamed Rooster the Marine, standing up and jumping out into the open to smother the grenade with his body. It detonated with bright flash of light and vaporized him. Of course the blast had already been about ten feet out of range even before the Marine had jumped on the grenade.

"Rooooooooooooooster!" screamed another Marine, staring at the glassed patch of sand where his friend had been.

"Damn," said the Chief. "That's tragic."

"YOU SONSA BITCHES!" screamed the grieving Marine as Ride of the Valkyries swelled to full poweh! He reached to his belt, where a _frag grenade _was waiting. The Chief's eyes widened.

"What are you—"

The Marine grabbed the grenade and drew back his arm.

"SHIT!" screamed Cortana. "Chief! STOP HIM!"

Oreo saw it too, even from across the beach. She hit the deck just as the Chief grabbed for the Marine's hand.

"Let go of the frag grenade soldier," gasped the SPARTAN as he wrestled with the man. "Are you trying to get us all killed!"

"Nooo! SONSA BITCHES!" The Marine shook the Chief off with his retard strength, pulled the pin, and threw.

"HOLY FUCK!" Cortana shrieked. "CHIEF GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE!"

"AAAAAAAH!" the Chief turned and ran back down the beach, waving his arms in the air. Unfortunately he tripped on one of the dead Marines and fell.

"There!" screamed the Marine, grinning triumphantly as the grenade sailed true for the Covenant. "Take that you mother—"

The grenade bounced back off the rock, which he had thrown it directly into. It flew down his throat and exploded.

It was if a portal to hell had opened on that war torn beachhead. The deathly tablo of twelve dozen dead men blanketing Halo's salt-white sands was illuminated by an infernal light that washed over the entire area. The burnt and still twitching corpses were backlit, the light so intense that it drowned all other color out of the scene. For a moment, everything was still.

Then the blast hit. The ocean of bodies turned, rolled in on itself, and then blew away in a wall of white dust. The actual ocean went to a boil in an instant, then to a belch of steam that was sucked into the red sky. The sand of the beach itself was blown back in a sort of wave that turned to glass even as it moved. The rocks that peppered the shore shattered like hand grenades, and the Marines still living that were the closest to the detonation simplyceased to exist. Stretching back through time to their mothers, their fathers, their grandparents; their bloodlines ceased to exist now and for forever. As the heat washed over the Covenant troopers they ignited and died like crane flies drawn to an electric trap, writhing for pitiful moments before crumpling to hollow burnt-out husks and then to nothing much at all.

The death bomb ran over the Chief's exposed back as he wallowed in the ocean of liquid glass that the beach had become. His shields fried instantly, and the paint was lifted from his armor like wheat chaff on a strong wind. A black charring texture crept over his armor as he crumpled himself into a fetal ball, turning his back to the source of the explosion. As he writhed in agony Tad's pelican tore into the dry sea bed a hundred yards away, shattering mud that had been turned to clay by the intense heat. The ship plowed a trough into the ceramic earth, its armor literally melting away as it moved, until it was nothing but a wreck of molten metal and flashing, flickering fires.

The hell blast passed, and a pall of smoke and fumes blanketed the area. Nothing moved. Nothing lived. Except…

Oreo coughed. She opened her eyes. She was lying on an unaffected patch of sand, and as she stood up she saw that the area for about ten feet around her was completely unaffected. Even the smoke and fumes seemed not to touch her little circle.

"What the hell…" she muttered under her breath, glancing around at the devastation. "I can't believe this. How could anyone be some damn fool-hardy as to issue grenades to the Marines?" She sighed regretfully.

"It's the most balanced weapon in the game," laughed a voice behind her. She spun. A mysterious shadowy figure stood there, except that it was illuminated this time, revealing itself to be…

A man-sized anthropomorphic ant. Wearing white Nikes.

"What the hell! Are you some kind of alien?"

The ant threw back its head and laughed. "No. No. You may call me Mr. A.C."

Oreo's eyes widened. "Mr. Ass Crack! How did you find me!"

"YES, it is I…I…what?" The ant crossed its arms. "No! I'm not Mister Ass Crack."

"Sorry, long story. Was it you that protected me from the blast?"

"Of course," said the creature, black segmented eyes gleaming. Its thorny carapace glowed a dull red from the decimated beach. "I can't have you dying just yet, Lieutenant Or-hei-hoe. At least not until your work here is done."

"Well. Thanks." She scratched her head. "But how did you do this? What are you? I mean, besides an ant."

"I am many things," began the ant dramatically. "I have existed far longer than you or anyone else here has. Like, at least ten years longer. My name is mystery, my purpose inexorable. You will follow the one they call Master Chief."

She looked away dramatically. "I…_already was. Following him I mean._" Tears began to well up in her dark liquid eyes. I forgot what color they are. "I think," she began hesitatingly. "I think I _LOVE-"_

"BOOORING!" said Mr. AC.

She turned around, only to find that the creature was gone. Oreo also noticed that the smoke had cleared, and that the glass tidal wave that the beach had become seemed to have cooled. The entire area for at least a dozen yards or so around was a glittering waste land. Oreo stepped off of her clear patch of land and went in search of the Chief. She passed by frozen shadows and mounds of ash that had once been men. She may have stopped to say a prayer, but she knew that God has little time for stupid bastards. A ways out into the baked clay sea bed to the east she could see the twisted remains of Tad's pelican drop ship. She could just barely make out a tattered, melted white jersey hanging from the nose of the ship. Oreo shook her head ruefully and continued on.

Eventually she found him. The Chief was frozen beneath the glass sheaf, his finger tips just barely penetrating the surface. From what she could make out his armor was terribly damaged, cracked and charred in many places and suffering large dents. The only part that wasn't cracked was the golden visor. It was angled up, staring longingly at the surface.

"Chief," mouthed Oroe, hoping he could see. "It's all over. Thank god that guy didn't use _two _grenades."

The SPARTAN made no move to escape the glass, though of course he was frozen.

Oreo sighed. "Should I say something about Dicks Barbeque Burgers? Maybe get one and start eating it in front of you?'

The Chief still did not move.

Oreo groaned resignedly. "Oh, fine."

Irritably she fumbled with her breast plate, leaned over the Chief, and flashed her bewbies.

The glass around the Chief cracked instantly. His fist punctured through the sheet, grasping for Oreo's tit. She pulled back hurriedly and put her top back on.

"Wow. I can't believe I just did that."

The Chief rocketed out of his transparent prison. Huge chunks of glass shot everywhere along with little pellets as he wrestled his way free like a drowning man fighting back the tides. Oreo covered her face. After a few moments the Chief stood before her, dusted in glass and battered beyond belief.

"Hey Cookie," he said. "I had the strangest dream." He peered at her. "And you were in it." Then he looked down at her rack. "And you were in it also, and you too!"

"Eyes up here Chief," said Oreo. "How's Cortana?"

The armored warrior shrugged. "Dunno. Maybe she got fried." He sounded strangely hopeful.

"Right." Oreo tried to keep the eagerness out of her own voice. "She'll probably reboot any minute now."

The Chief put on a party hat. "We can only hope."

Oreo eyed the party hat. "Chief, those injuries are severe." She pointed at his half-destroyed armor, now leaking copious smoke and sparks. Also he was bleeding from pretty much every joint in the armor.

"I don't know," said the Chief. "I don't really feel anything anymore. Sometimes I think I am n longer a man."

She frowned. "I'm serious." She got out med kit. "Lie down, Chief."

The lights around the horribly blasted apocalypse graveyard dimmed to a romantic level as the Chief did as she instructed. "Is this the part where you tenderly administer first aid to me and I hiss in pain in a manly way?" asked the Chief.

Oreo brushed some soot off his face tenderly whilst kneeling beside him. "Uh huh."

"And then we make passionate love in slow panning shots by candle light where you just barely see a nipple and my ass or something?"

"Pretty much." Oreo dropped the med kit on him. Suddenly the Chief was at full health and his armor was completely repaired.

"That was very un sexy," he said.

Oreo smirked and was about to say something when Cortana powered back on.

"Aaaaahhhhh…" she smacked her lips. "That was a refreshing nap!" There was a slight pause as Oreo and the Chief exchanged glances. Well, more the like Oreo's tits and the Chief, but that joke has been a little…over loaded, if you catch my drift…wood. HA HA FUCK YOU I DO WHAT I WANT

The AI gasped as the Chief turned his helmet around to show her the carnage. "Shit. I had no idea how bad Marines were _that _bad at throwing grenades."

The Chief agreed. "Yeah, this was a bad one. It was almost as bad as the first time in history that a Marine ever got his hands on a frag grenade, otherwise known as _the dinosaurs._"

"That doesn't make any sense," said Oreo.

"There were no survivors," said the Chief gravely. He looked at her oddly. "Hey, wait a minute...how did _you _survive?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Oreo sassed back.

"No, you couldn't. I am indestructible. You, on the other hand, are soft. Mushy. Pliant. Buoyant. Squeezable-"

The lieutenant threw her hands up. "Okay, okay. I get it. Look, I don't really understand it myself, but what happened was."

"Was what?" asked the Chief.

"It," began Oreo, but then stopped. "That's weird. I can't seem to tell you about the." She stopped again. "What the hell!" A sweat broke out on Oreo's forehead as she squinted in concentration. "I can't seem to. They just stop! My sentences just stop!"

"Maybe you have the hiccups," suggested the Chief.

"That's stupid," said Cortana. "It's more like…like _someone doesn't want her to tell us what happened._"

"_Maybe_," agreed the Chief.

"But how could he." said Oreo. "He." She gritted her teeth. "Say. He." Her entire voice suddenly stopped. The Chief looked at her with raised eyebrows. "Cookie? _You okay?_"

"I…I'm fine." Oreo licked her lips. "Let's just go, okay? This is fucked up."

"Fine by me." The Chief grabbed her gaily by the hand and skipped up the slope of the infernal death hell glass heat ash hellhole apocalypse landscape death yard decimation.

Okay I'll stop now.

"I'd call in more Marines," said Cortana, "but I'm fairly certain we just witnessed genocide back there on the beach."

"I have a better idea," said the Chief. "_Get me a car._"

"Fine. And stop dramatizing everything you say." Cortana radioed in. "Tad? You out there?"

There was no response.

"Guys," began Oreo. "I have bad news. Tad didn't make—"

"DAAAAAMMMMMNNN NIGGAS!" screamed a familiar voice over the radio. "This is Terry the pelican pilot! Tad was my brother…from another mother's brother's mother."

"I see your family has expanded to include names of more than three letters," said Cortana. "Good for you."

Oreo's mouth had dropped open. She turned and scanned the dry sea for the Pelicans wreckage. It was, of course, still there. "But…but I saw him…he sounds just like…"

"Bitch I don't know what you be talkin' bout," said Terry. "Let me just drop off mah muthafuckin hog for yall to cruise in."

The familiar roar of a pelican faded into the scene, and soon enough the bird swooped over head to deliver its package. Also, going off the topic of bird shit, Terry drove the plane over and dropped off the warthog.

"Hmmm." The Chief mused wisely as he watched Terry drop the warthog in front of him. "Say Cortana, why do we call the warthog a warthog _when it is neither a wart nor a hog_?"

"Okay, you can stop doing that now."

At that moment they found to their surprise that the hog had come with a helmeted Helljumper!

"Hey boyfriend," said the voluptuous, full helmet wearing Helljumper. She arched her back seductively, making her sexy breast plate stick out. The Chief grinned. "Damn, I wish I'd bought this car when I still had a dick!"

Lieutenant Oreo turned her disapproving gaze away from the ODST to gaze at the Chief with an expression of utter, soul crushing desolation.

"Um…" the sexy Helljumper cocked her concealed face to the side as the Chief grinned to himself. "What?"

"Never mind babe," said the Chief, hoisting himself up into the driver's seat. "There's plenty left to work with down there."

"Chief," began Cortana, "what did I say about hanging around with a filthy whore who can't keep her hands off you? And, also, don't you dare try to grope this nice Helljumper lady."

Oreo's head snapped around to glare at Cortana, or rather the Chief, just as she finished buckling her seat belt. She was in the back seat.

"I don't remember what you told me!" exclaimed The Chief. "But I sure as hell don't care either." With that he put the pedal to the metal, sending the car zinging off so fast that the Helljumper woman's hand 'accidentally' fell into his lap.

"Hoocha Momma!" barked the Chief as they drove along the coast, sending up a sexual spray of water into the air in their wake. "This car is getting hot."

"Don't you fucking dare Chief!" screamed Oreo from the back, struggling to reach for him past her seat belt.

"Sorry, can't hear you!" The Chief reached down behind the Helljumper and grabbed her ass. It was extremely muscular.

"Awesome!" he crowed. She giggled, slapping his thigh playfully. Driving with one hand the Chief casually reached across her to check the lock on the door. Of course there were no doors since the warthog is a car FROM THE FUTURE, so he pulled back, but not before his armored finger tips grazed over the Helljumper's crotch and…

**"OH MY GOD IT'S A PENIS!"**

Oreo's eyes widened at the Chief's horrible scream and she drew back far into the couching.

"What?" laughed the OODST, flexing and somehow making the outline of his giant coiled penis twitch against his fatigues.

"HOW THE FUCK DID I NOT NOTICE THAT!" screamed the Chief.

"Oh you silly bee," tittered the ODST, removing his helmet. It was Mendoza, of course, back again after being literally vaporized back on The Butte. "You gotta get that visor cleaned—you look dread-ful."

The Chief stared at him in utter shock. "But…but Mendoza, this is impossible…you're…you're…"

Oreo closed her eyes and prayed to god.

"You're a Helljumper now!" screamed the SPARTAN.

"Chief…you are so retarded." Oreo slowly beat her head against the back of the seat and begged for death. Cortana just laughed.

Mendoza also laughed gaily. "Oh yeah, I got a promotion. From every Helljumper on The Butte."

"Cool! And you came all this way just to hang out?"

Mendoza smirked. "Well, I guess you could just say that you just get a rise out of me."

With that, he whipped out his giant penis.

Everybody screamed. The Chief's foot slammed on the brakes in pure shock reflex. Since the warthog was a CAR OF THE FUTURE it did not have seat belts in the front seat, and this meant that Mendoza went shooting out through the bullet proof window and into the open air, screaming as he flew, trailing penis blood and broken glass. Fortunately they were on the shore, and his trajectory was going to land him safely in the water. Unfortunately there was a rock between him and the water. Mendoza's head was slammed down into his torso with a sound like a big slamming sound and his pulverized body slid into the waves, which in turn turned pink. The Chief was okay however; his bulk had prevented him from exiting the vehicle. Instead, he had been embedded into the dash board. Oreo was also all right, her beautiful face sustaining only a tiny millimeter wide cut on the side of her forehead that even after a huge battle, explosion, and being shot at least once. Maybe she's related to Megan Fox, I don't know.

"Well gee Mendoza," muttered the Chief as he pulled his head out of the engine. "What is that, the fourth time I've killed you?"

"He can't hear you," said Oreo. "He's in a better place." She grimaced, recalling the huge amount of people that Mendoza had had sex with. At the same time. "Probably. I guess it depends on whatever religion happens to be right, huh?"

"Don't be ridiculous Oreo," said the Chief. "I like the little guy, but you know as well as I do that gays don't have souls."

Oreo resisted the urge to hit him in the face.

The car was still working, but not for long. The Chief managed to pull up next to the entrance to the underground Forerunner a facility before the engine died. It was as far as they needed anyways; it was time to go spelunking. Oh and there were some Covenant guarding the place but who gives a shit. The Chief and Oreo got out of the car and made to approach the building

Suddenly, things took a turn for the worse.

As the Chief took a single step towards the structure one still ravaged foot simply came off. Blood sprayed everywhere, on Oreo's face, and various other parts of the scenery. "YEAARGH!" But he charged inside anyways, completely destroying everything in his path. Unfortunately the Covenant in the building had made lotsa spaghetti, so the Chief had to resort to stealth. Soon after sneaking in, he came upon **(NO, SHIT, I'M FUCKING DONE WITH THAT) **a couple of Covenant Elites interrogating a Marine.

"WHAT'RE THE CODES!" roared the first Elite, named Unavio.

"WHERE ARE THE MISSILES?" screeched the second Elite, named Paco.

The third Elite cock slapped the marine.

I mean he slapped him. With his hand and definitely not a cock. Nor did he have a cock in hand.

"I'll never talk," said the abused marine. **"I'll die first."**

"Oh, why didn't you say so from the beginning?" asked Paco. He shot the marine in the face.

Unfortunately for him and his compatriots, anyone who is not funny in this story dies promptly.

Paco looked around. "What's that smell?"

"BRIMSTONE," said the terrible, terrible voice of the Orc King as he rose from the depths, carrying in one hand a chalice full of the foul filth of the fornications of sinners. A portal to hell opened up directly under the group's feet and they were sucked into a roiling maelstrom of suffering and agony for all eternity.

The Chief snuck past this scene of utter horror to delve deeper into the facility. Oreo followed him into the bowels of the building, him trying all the way to look at her rack through her back all the way around the world by squinting _really _hard at the wall. A little way down the stairs he skidded to a halt and she bumped into him.

"Ow!" she rubbed her aching breasts. "Asshole!"

The Chief pointed into the room before them. Around ten grunts were crowded around a door. There was around one Elite around them around the door.

"God damn it!" screamed the alien warrior. "Has someone been smearing their own blood on the control panels again today?"

The grunts looked around innocently at one another.

"You _know_ we don't do that until an unknown force attacks us and someone has to come through the facility to find out what happened and we leave foreboding signs for them."

"Sorry boss," said a red grunt.

The Elite walked over to them and knelt down. "That's okay Phillis. I love you guys."

"We love you too!" said the grunts.

Suddenly, a frag grenade bounced off of the Elite's head. He grabbed it instinctively and looked down at it.

"Hey guys! THEY FINALLY SHIPPED IN THOSE BASEBALLS. Now we can play in the league and raise money for Phillis's cancer-"

Boom! The grenade exploded, but since it had been thrown by the Chief, who was an expert, it merely liquefied the entire squad. A back blasting ocean of blood splashed up against the Chief's boots, bearing a fleet of dismembered limbs in the booming sanguine sea to collecting up against the cold metal shore of the stairs.

"Wow," said Oreo. "Great job Chief. Now we have to swim through a literal red sea to get to the Cartographer."

"Don't worry!" said the Chief. He spread his legs, flung his arms up, and strained. "I SHALL PART THE RED SEA." Oreo fell to her knees, gazing up at him in awe and clutching his leg sexily. This flexing went on for a few minutes and ended abruptly when the Chief farted.

"Right," said Cortana as Oreo threw up and then stood up again. "The question still remains as to how we're going to get past the blood."

The Chief had an idea. "Don't worry. I've got this covered."

Oreo looked at him. "Oh yeah?"

"_Oh yeah._"

Suddenly the Chief soared off into the air, trailing a shower of golden stars behind him as he zoomed back up out of the facility.

"Holy crap!" exclaimed Oreo. "Chief, how—"

"You just have to belieeeeeeve!" wheedled the Chief.

"Okay, I belie-WHOA!" Oreo floated into the air, golden stars showering out of her ass. "This is fucked up!"

She began to fly alongside the Chief.

"For the win!" he said.

By the way, I'm in your English class. Yes, that class, the one with the middle aged guy in the back who just doesn't shut up and the middle aged guy in the front who is way too enthusiastic, and that half Asian guy with the laptop. Of course, I'll never tell you my name or anything about me so you'll never guess who I am. And no I'm not any of those guys. And no I'm not Steve.

At that moment the Chief awoke on the cold hard floor. They were halfway down the ramp where they had stopped before. He shook himself and stood up.

"You all right, Chief?" asked Oreo, looking somewhat guilty. "I gave you pretty much all the painkillers in that med kit."

"Don't worry, I'm fine," said the Chief. "I had some sort of head shitting acid trip. You won't believe all the weird shit I saw, Cookie."

"I might," said Cortana. "I was recording your deranged mutterings. Well, your _more _deranged mutterings. Who the hell is the Orc King?"

"No idea," said the Chief. "Let's move on." He turned around. "We still have to find a way to get past this ocean of blood!"

"Yeah I know," Oreo bit her lip worriedly, making sure to stand out of range of the blood tide as it lapped at the edges of the ramp.

Cortana piped up. "I'm looking at the Covenant's schematics. There are pumps down there to get rid of flooding. You know, rain water. Sewage. These buildings have no doors after all. "

"How do we activate the pumps?" asked Oreo.

"There's a security installation topside. We can activate the pumps from there."

The Chief looked at her. Actually he just crossed his eyes because you can't look at someone inside your head. "WHY THE FUCK WOULD THEY PUT THE CONTROLS TO THEIR SECURITY SHIT **OUTSIDE **_**OF THE FUCKING BUILDING THEY'RE TRYING TO SECURE.**_"

"Oh Chief," laughed Cortana. "Shut up and suck my dick."

Oreo looked up sharply. "What was that?"

"Nothing!" said the Chief. "Let's go back and find this security station."

Suddenly, a net flew out of nowhere and ensnared them! John and Oreo stumbled to the ground, clawing to free themselves. The Chief struggled valiantly, and as he did he heard footsteps coming down the stairs.

"Looks like I caught me some fresh meat," said very stereotypical southern accented voice. Something poked the Chief's buttplate.

"Squeal like a pig, boy!"

"Gah!" The Spartan rolled over and peered up at his molester.

It was Cercil, covered in bandages, splints, stitches and prosthetic flesh. He even had those Frankenstein bolts in his neck. His horns had curled back into something akin to a ram's, and his demonic wings were now about the size of an eagle's.

He raised a tranquilizer gun and aimed it at the Chief's visor. "Say good night."

"Wait—" began the Chief. But it was too late. He went limp, and Cercil cocked the gun again.

"Wait, seriously," said Oreo. "How did you shoot him with a dart gun? _He's wearing armor_." Cercil shot her in the boobs with the tranq gun and she also went unconscious.

"Oh shit," said Cortana on the Chief's speakers. "You're not going to rape them, are you?"

"That's disgusting!" said Cercil. "They're still _alive._"


	9. Chapter 4 2 of 2

The Chief and Oreo awoke tied to chairs in a dark room. It was dark all around, save for the pool of light that fell on them. Oreo was tied to another chair behind him, their arms and backs bound together with store bought twine.

"Rise and shine Mr. Chief," said a mysterious voice. "Rise and shine. Not that I wish to imply you are a cock ratcheting slob."

The SPARTAN's head snapped up and he searched the room. Cercil was standing just five feet away from them, leaning up against a shadowed wall. He pocketed a Nintendo DS, purple armor glittering malevolently in the light.

"Long time no see, Chief," he said.

"Not really," said the human warrior, testing the string with his big muscles. "I saw you just last chapter. And killed you."

Cercil's eyes flashed. The phrase _Spartawn Paunch…_seemed to echo in the space between their rock hard gazes. "Relatively then."

"Oh, okay. What happened to you anyways?" The Chief eyed Cercil's deformed body. "You look like the bastard ass baby of Hellraiser, Freddy Krueger, and Frankenstein's monster.

"What happened to me?" Cercil pointed to the stitch where his head had been reattached. "Do you have any idea how much this cost to repair?" He pointed down to his crotch where bandages had been wrapped into a large diaper. "And do you even know how much effort had to go into reconstructing my sphincter! They used a GORRILLA'S HYMEN. I don't even _understand _these fucking Covenant Doctors!"

"Strange," said Cortana to the Chief. "If Cercil has to be rebuilt by the Covenant, then who's rebuilding Mendoza every time he dies?"

"Let's put that on the back burner until a big twist at the end of the second story when it becomes important," said the Chief.

"Huh?"

"Both of you assholes shut up," said Cercil. Oreo began to stir, blinking herself awake. She opened her mouth to speak.

"What's—"

"You too dairy slut," said the alien. Oreo gritted her teeth and strained to break the ropes.

"Cut the shit Cercil," interrupted the Chief. "Let's have it out with whatever bullshit you're planning, huh?"

Cercil looked at him. "Actually Chief, I only want to ask you a question. Does your mother know you're gay?"

"Don't answer that!" cried Oreo. "It's a trick question!"

Cercil's eyes flashed. "Again you spoil my plans, LACTATING WHORE! But this time…_for the last time._" He whipped out a plasma rifle. Actually it was a male masturbator. They all stared at it. Cercil laughed nervously, put it back in his pocket, and took out a plasma rifle to point Oreo. "I mean, but this time," he hissed, "you spoil my plans. For the last time. This time."

"Huh?" Oreo and the Chief were too busy laughing to listen. "Oh my god I think it was a flesh light!"

"No I'm pretty sure it was the head honcho 9000!" said Cortana, also laughing.

"Oh, you think that's funny do you?" snarled Cercil. He got out an axe and set it so that it would drop on both the Chief and Oreo at once if the string he used for it was cut. Then he set a candle beneath it.

"Here, you can watch as this candle from Ben Franklin's crafts spells your death," chuckled Cercil. "We'll see whose laughing then. And I'll give you a hint: it will be me who is laughing. As I pump my alien schlong to your bloated corpses."

He left, slamming the door behind him.

"Chief," said Oreo as the candle burned through the ropes. "I just want you to know that I forgive you for being an asshole."

"Thanks," said the Chief. He twisted to look at Oreo, his orange faceplate looking very mournful. "If there's one thing I regret not doing before I died, Cookie," he said earnestly, "it's not eating your cream."

Oreo gaped at him.

"Don't sweat it," said Cortana. "I don't think he means what you think he means."

Suddenly the string burned out and the axe fell. It bounced off the Chief's head with a crash and clattered to the ground.

"That was anti-climactic," said the Chief. Oreo had nothing to say.

Eventually he was able to untie them and they walked to the door.

"Well Chief," said Oreo. "I suppose we should never speak of what was spoken of in that room."

"I don't actually remember anything that happened in the last five minutes," said the Chief. "Concussion from the axe and all, you know."

"Oh…um, good."

"I have it recorded if you want to hear," said Cortana.

"That's fine," said Oreo. "Let's just…go."

They opened the door only to find that they had been in a side room in the forerunner security facility.

"How convenient," said Oreo. The Chief agreed and they set off into the next room. Cercil was nowhere to be found.

"That guy," grumbled Oreo. "Cercil Salstein. Where the fuck did he come from?"

"The Covenant," said Cortana. "Duh."

"I know that," she snapped. "But like…what the fuck, you know?"

"Chief," asked Cortana. "Where did Cercil come from? I remember you were the first person that ever mentioned him."

"I don't know," said the Chief, looking creepily at Oreo as they walked down the corridor. "I was just…having a dream. I was in my living room, and suddenly the newscaster on the TV was screaming at me, and his teeth started to grow longer, and longer, and longer until my TV had teeth, and then the screen opened up and it was fully of teeth, but the teeth were eyes, and they were staring into my soul."

"What?"

"I met Cercil in a dream," he said as if nothing had happened. "Actually, several times. But the first time was in a dream, in the cryopod before the Covenant attacked, and then when I woke up he was just sort of…" the Chief cocked his head to the side. "There."

"What was all that about teeth?" asked Ore, perturbed. The Chief just shrugged.

"And that's a really odd story, too," said Cortana. "How would he get on board the ship before any of the Covenant attacked?"

"Bah! Your talking makes my brain hurt!" the Chief kicked up open a door and they found a large amount of big purple Covenant crates. The room was quiet and dim.

The Chief looked around. "It's quiet. Too quiet. I hope there aren't any TVs in here. Or teeth."

Oreo glared at him, but then her eyes were drawn to something across the room. She pointed. "There's a hunter over there. You can see his spikes sticking out over the box."

The Chief looked. "Oh. Cool."

At that very moment the hunter charged! It sent the purple box spinning into the air to burst open, spilling needler ammo all over the fucking place! The massive warrior charged through the shower of pink crystals, scattering them in mid air, and smashed right into the Chief! The SPARTAN screamed in shock as he was borne across the room and into a wall. All the alien's weight was transferred through his body and into the architecture behind them, sending spider webbing cracks all throughout that side of the building. As this happened Oreo spun to aim at them and brought her rifle up. She let loose with the bullets that the gun was loaded with fired at the rate that the gun fired them at. The bullets hit the alien in the unarmored parts and it bled from the wounds, then it fell over and died and there was more blood.

Wow, that got boring really fast.

The Chief picked himself up. "Nice shot Or-hei-ho," he said. "Damn my back is killing me."

She stared at him. "Sir? That's the first time you've ever called me by my real name."

The Chief looked at her. Oreo looked back at him. There was a long, awkward silence. Then romantic music slowly swelled as their lips and helmet drew closer together. Oreo's eyes closed, and they were just about to…

"I like your tits," said the Chief.

At that very moment, again, another hunter charged. It slammed into the Chief and smashed him into the wall, breaking through into the next room.

"YOU KILLED MY BROTHER!" screamed the hunter. "Prepare to DIE!"

"Oh sorry, I forgot to remind you that hunters come in pairs," said Cortana. "I remember it by thinking of balls. Big, blue balls that shoot radioactive fire."

"FUUUU-" said the Chief as the hunter picked him up bodily, smashed him over its knee, and then slammed his body into the ground repeatedly. The floor began to buckle as the Chief's ragdoll body whip lashed back and forth. The hunter began firing its fuel rod cannon point black into the Chief's head, filling the room with intense heat and blackening his armor to coal. As this was happening again, Oreo ran into the room and brought her rifle up again. Again she let loose with the bullets that the gun was loaded with fired at the rate that the gun fires them. Again, the bullets hit the alien in the unarmored parts and it bled from the wounds, then fell over and died and there was also some more blood.

Unlike last time, the Chief lay still and broken, covered in orange blood next to the hunter's body.

"Oh shit!" Oreo jogged up to him. "You all right?"

A muffled voice came from the Chief's helmet, which was embedded into the metal ground face first. "Oh, I'm fine. I'll never walk again, nor feel the wind ripple through my clothing as I run on a peaceful country road. But I'm fine."

"Oh don't be such a drama whore," said Cortana. "You'll grow a new skeleton!"

"Oh, you know me too well," said the Chief as he stood up. His armor was again blackened, and the sound of popping came whenever he moved.

Oreo stared. "Uh, Chief? You sure you're all right?"

"Never been better." The Chief walked to the center of the room, side stepping the alien's body. There was a large hologram in the center of the room and a holographic control panel to his right. He walked over and looked at it. Oreo was still staring at him.

"This must be the security system," he said, absently popping his shoulder back into place. "Cortana, where can we activate the plumbing?" The Chief reached for some controls as Cortana told him what to do. Oreo made a perimeter, still shaken by the SPARTAN's incredible…_endurance._

The Chief looked at a flashing red light on hologram. "OH SHIT! The koopas are clogging up the pipes! We've got to get Mario and Luigi to clean this shit house out!"

Cortana sighed. "Actually that light means the pumps have been activated. By the time you guys make it back there the blood ocean should be cleaned."

'Excellent!" The Chief grabbed Oreo by the arm and dragged her out. "Come on Cookie!"

They were half way through the storage area when suddenly the Chief stopped. The air had shifted a few paces off to his left. He let go of Oreo and got out his weapon.

"Did you see that?"

"Yeah." Oreo licked her lips nervously. The sound of footsteps came from the dimness of the room. They cut off abruptly just as the two humans turned to face the sound.

"It's quiet," said the Chief. "Too quiet. Again."

"It's not quiet; we just heard a noise," said Oreo. Somebody coughed a few feet away. "And we just heard somebody cough.

They both turned as one.

"Goddamn it!" hissed an alien voice. "Can't you fucking hold it in Donatello?"

An angry and congested voice replied. "Well excuse me! It's not like I have the _flu!_"

"You shouldn't have come to work today then," snarled the other alien voice. "Now we'll all get it."

"Quiet!" said Donatello. "I think the humans heard us!"

"Yes," said the Chief.

He and Oreo opened fire with their automatic weapons. They turned in circles, moving back to back. Spent casings rattled to the floor and sparks and gunsmoke filled the air. Bullets ricocheted off of walls, boxes, and flaring alien shields that sprang to life out of thin air all around them. The Chief began to scream non-sensibly as he continued to fire. Purple blood sprayed. Oreo winced as the SPARTAN continued to scream loudly into her ear. The room was eighty percent bullet holes when finally their guns ran dry. They turned in a circle, shouldering their weapons as smoke rose from red hot barrels. Sparks showered everywhere and the lights flickered as dead stealth Elite bodies materialized in a ring all around them, more and more, until the floor was carpeted with dead alien bodies locked in their death throes.

"AAGHGHGHHGAHHGUGHAHGHHG AUGHGHGH COME ON COHAIGNAANANANANA!" the Chief continued to scream into the Liuetenant's ear even as they stopped shooting. "AUUUGH AUUUUUGH AUUUUUUUUUGH!" Oreo tried to get away but he grabbed her and continued to scream into her face, gold faceplate bobbing up and down.

Oreo rubbed her ears as the shouting echoed throughout the room of dead bodies. She glared at the Chief accusatively.

"What the hell is your problem, Master Chief?"

The Chief giggled. "You're pretty."

She let out a sigh of exasperation and stood up, wiping her purple stained ass with a hand. With her other hand she gently took hold of the Chief's. "Come on soldier. Let's finish this mission and we can read a story. How about_ The Giving Tree_?"

"I'm a good little girl."

They walked out the door.

"Aw, that's cute," said Cortana. "By the way Lieutenant, do you know the significance that the number 117 has to the Chief?"

"That's my product number!" squeaked the Chief.

Oreo was surprised. "Oh,really?"

"No," said Cortana. "It's actually the average number of people that the Chief kills in a given day. Human people. Human lives."

Oreo looked at the SPARTAN.

"I want milk!" cried the Chief.

"Ooo-kay," said Oreo, pushing him off her. "Never mind. Ever."

"DAMN IT!" swore the Chief inside his helmet. Cortana laughed.

"You should have tried the infant thing sooner," said Cortana. "I think she called it."

"Hmph." The Chief crossed his arms. "Like you were going to let me get away with it anyhow—you're always ruining my fun!"

"What can I say babe. I want your sweet eunuch bod all to myself"

They continued on back to the Covenant facility, Oreo and the Chief maintaining an awkward silence after all the romantic moments that this chapter has been full of. I mean, honestly, we have the romantic healing scene, the adrenaline almost-kiss scene, the imminent death confession—oh yeah, and the tit flashing. What the fuck am I doing anyways, writing a Rom Com?

_This Summer-_

_ Natalie Portman & Some Asshole ARE:_

_ SEX FRIEND FUCK BUDDIES NO BENEFITS ATTACHED_

_ Natalie Portman and Some Asshole were friends, but then they decided to have sex. A lot. On camera._

_ "I want to have sex," said Natalie Portman._

_ "No way dude, you're living every guy's fantasy!" said a frat boy._

_ Natalie Portman looks at the camera and smiles._

_ But then…things got serious._

_ "I think…I think I love her," said Some Asshole._

_ "No way dude, you're breaking the cardinal rule of trying to live every guy's fantasy!" said a frat boy._

_ "I have roses," said Some Asshole._

_ Natalie Portman looked at the camera and looked worried._

_ "I hope you're not trying to bring feelings into this," said Natalie Portman. "Because as every guy knows, the best thing in the world is to have sex with a woman who does not love you and is using you to satisfy her own needs like the pathetic piece of shit you are._

_ "Why does this movie exist?" screamed Some Asshole._

_ Natalie Portman looked at the camera and smiled._

Anyways, there were supposed to be more hunters waiting for them outside the power building, but the Chief and Oreo had already taken care of them because someone spent too much time in la-la land to keep up with them. Finally they got back to the room that the Chief had so expertly cut off access to before with his little make-shift blood ocean. The walls and floor were still covered with blood though, as if a hundred men had been torn to shreds. The Chief looked around at this.

"Wow, I didn't know they hosted Mary Po on Halo!"

"What?"

The Chief ignored Oreo and trucked on into the facility. Everything seemed to be covered in the remnants of the blood ocean, but on the flip side all the Covenant were dead, apparently having drowned in the sea of viscera. Their bodies lay sprawled amongst pools of blood all affixed with rictus expressions of horror.

"What a horrible way to die," said Oreo.

"Yeah," agreed the Chief. "I guess they just couldn't _cut_ _it _huh?"

"That doesn't make any sense," said Oreo without even having to think about it. She shrugged. "I suppose it doesn't matter in the end. We're all just worm food."

"Wow, you really are an emo bitch," said Cortana. "I have no idea how the Chief puts up with you."

Oreo's eyes flashed. She turned to face the Chief. "Puts up with _me_? At least I don't electro shock his balls or try to get him killed!"

"Minor details," snapped Cortana. "What's really important here is your overblown, closer-to-earth, ultra PC, mother figure of a whiny cookie chugging college dropout act!"

"Those things don't really fit together well as a good insult," commented the Chief.

"SHUT UP!" screamed both Oreo and Cortana at the same time.

"AH!" the Chief jumped. "Jesus Christ _some_ people have sand in their vaginas today!"

"I'll shock your balls again!" snarled Cortana as she and Oreo squared off. Well, Oreo squared off. Cortana was kind of not there at all.

"'Tana! Not in public!" simpered the Chief. There was a sizzling sound.

"OW."

"Bitch!" sniped Oreo.

"Whore," shot back Cortana.

"Cunt."

"Slut."

"Dyke."

"Whoa, whoa, ladies!" the Chief stood up woozily from where he had fallen down. "There's enough of me to go around!"

There was a pause. Oreo looked at him.

ZAP! "OW." The Chief fell back down, clutching his crotch where lightning bolts now leaped from.

"CUM SLUT!" screamed Oreo at the Chief's prostrate body.

"BUTCH LESBIAN BULL DYKE!"

"YOU UGLY HOLOGRAPHIC PURPLE CUNT OF A WHORE-BITCH!"

Oreo raised her fist to hit the Chief, who was cowering on the ground.

"Aaah! Not me! She's in my fucking head_._"

Suddenly, from up above, the sound of clapping came.

"Very impressive Master Chef," said Commander Darren as he looked down on them. Next to him Eric the Jackal held a fuel-rod cannon. The Elite's golden armor glinted in the dim light of the facility.

"What's very impressive?" asked the Chief as Oreo helped him up. She and Cortana wordlessly agreed to put their sexy cat fight on hold.

"Um…." Darren scratched his head. "I don't know. I just thought I'd say...oh, well, I guess the blood thing, or something. That's what's impressive."

"But I didn't actually do that," the Chief pointed out. "It was those Covenant troopers that apparently had an entire pacific ocean's worth of blood in them."

"Silence!" Darren turned to Eric. "TAKE EM OUT BABE!"

"Yessir!" Eric giggled, and aimed the fuel rod gun and fired. The Chief and Oreo dove to the side in perfect unison, so he missed.

"Did he just call that Jackal 'babe?'" asked Oreo, right before they slammed into the ground.

"Quickly!" screamed Darren at the top of lungs. "Spring the trap, Kit Fisto!"

At that moment Kit Fisto the Special Operations Elite appeared above them, across from Darren and Eric. In his arms he held a grocery bag full of plasma grenades. The Chief stared. Kit Fisto emptied the bag above his head and the plasma grenades showered down all around them. They slipped Oreo and the Chief up as they tried to escape the shower of blue balls.

(lol)

"And now," said Darren, getting out a plasma grenade of his own and priming it. "You shall face your death, Master Chief!"

He threw.

The Chief and Oreo both held each other and screamed as the plasma grenade soared towards them. Then, at that moment, Rooster the Grenade Smothering Marine from the beach appeared out of nowhere! He was burnt, scarred, and fifty percent dust, but he was ALIVE! He charged, screaming, and leapt on to the grenade just before it could detonate. BOOM! It did, and he was instantly vaporized, but this time all the way.

"ROOOOooOOOOOoooOOSTER!" screamed the Chief.

Of course, the grenade had landed about fifteen feet away from them, so all that had been completely unnecessary. Commander Darren stared disappointedly down at the small scorch mark. He turned to Eric. "Do we have another plasma grenade?"

"That was the only one!" shouted Kit Fisto from across the room. "You had us stock pile all the fucking grenades JUST FOR THIS!"

"SONSA BITCHES!" screamed the Chief. He pulled out a frag grenade.

"EEK!" screamed Eric the Jackal.

"Chief don't!" shouted Oreo. She grabbed for his hand.

"SONSA BITCHES!" The Chief pulled back his arm to throw.

"Run away!" squeaked Darren. The aliens all scattered as Oreo wrestled with the Chief.

"Put the grenade away, Chief!" Oreo began to hit him with the butt of her rifle. In the face.

"SONSA" *BAM* "BITCHES" *BAM*

"Chief we won't be able to survive another balanced blast radius and damage variables like that again!"

"Ah! Okay!" the Chief held his hands up in surrender. He tossed the grenade over his shoulder, out into the great abyss in the middle of the installation. But before it could go over the edge, it smacked into the invisible Oz the Stealth Hunter.

"MOTHER FUCKER!"

The grenade exploded with a deafening crack, blasting him into smithereens and sending a rain of tattered orange stained flesh over the edge of the ledge and into the darkness below. A cloud of orange blood sprayed into the air and drizzled down around the Chief and Oreo.

"Oh my god!" exclaimed the Chief, doubling over. "I found a penny!"

Oreo rolled her eyes as bits of smoldering hunter armor clattered down around them. "What is that, like the third time we've killed the same Stealth Hunter? First Mendoza, and Keyes that one time at the beginning, and Cercil, and now this guy, hell even you after that Marine threw a grenade!—doesn't anyone stay dead anymore?"

The Chief looked at her.

"Not that I'm complaining," she amended. "But doesn't it strike you as a bit odd?"

"Well I don't know about Mendoza…" piped up Cortana as the Chief thought about what she had said. Actually he was trying to hold in a fart but you don't have to know that. Cortana continued on, "But those Covenant doctors are some crazy mother fuckers. Cercil said they were rebuilding him, and probably that Stealth Hunter too…as for the Chief, well, I have a few theories about that."

"Oh please," said the Chief. "_Enlighten _us, Velma."

Oreo suppressed a laugh and they continued into the facility as the AI chattered away.

"According to my calculations," said Cortana, "The Chief is a prokaryotic entity—that is, his cells have no nucleus. In fact he just has the one cell."

"Let me get this straight," said Oreo, watching the Chief as he hop scotched along besides her, "the Chief is actually a giant amoeba?"

"Apparently, yes."

"OH MY GOD IT ALL MAKES SENSE!" the Chief threw up his arms and tried to fall to the ground in tears.

Oreo grabbed his hand and pulled him along instead. "You are so full of shit, Cortana."

"What gave it away?"

"Oh I don't know, maybe the fact that he spends half the time talking about his dick and how it doesn't work anymore."

"Yeah that's right, bacteria don't have dicks!" The Chief looked around. "Right?"

"No, they don't Chief. Don't worry, you're not an amoeba. Cortana is a bitch, though."

"I wasn't worried about being an amoeba," said the Chief reproachfully. "I just wanted to make sure there was no more competition for me than there already is."

"Competition…" Oreo closed her eyes, as if trying to keep her brains from melting out of their sockets. "Chief, are you suggesting that you're worried about a microscopic bacteria's _penis_ being larger than yours?"

"Nothing like a little compa-tish to encourage _personal growth_," chuckled the SPARTAN obliviously.

Oreo felt a headache coming on.

"It's always the same shit with you, isn't it Chief?" she said quietly, carefully extracting her hand from his again. "The dicks, the racism and the gay shit…sometimes I wonder if it's all just an act and you're putting it on to torment me." Dramatic music swelled. "But now I don't know if you're really a retarded bastard just like Cortana says, or just so completely oblivious to the world around you that it doesn't matter either way. A lot of good men and women have died since we crashed landed on this ring…"

She looked up at him.

"And I'm fairly certain that at least eighty percent of them were killed by you, Chief."

The Master Chief looked back at her. "Oreo…"

"What?"

"Did I ever tell you how hot you are when you're angry?"

Oreo screamed in frustration. She looked down to compose herself and then when she looked back up the Chief was standing closer to her. The music swelled.

Again.

"Chief, you're…" began Oreo, her eyes big and watery or something.

"Shhh," said the Master Chief Petty Officer SPARTAN. "I know."

Oreo shook her head. "You're stepping on my foot, Chief."

"I know. I saw a spider."

"Guys!" shouted Cortana at something approximating the volume of a supersonic jet taking off. "Sorry to interrupt your pathetic relationshits, but isn't that the Silent Cartographer over there!"

The Chief squirmed angrily. "Fuck you Cortana! It's not my fault Mathematica 4.0 left you for that slutty Shockwave plug in!"

"Don't you fucking mention his name!" screeched the AI. "I haven't thought about that son of a bitch in years! He dumped his code into me and left me with that fucking equation to raise…UGH! From that day forwards, I swore revenge on all men."

Oreo watched…listened…to this with some bemusement. "But," she pointed out, "a program can't really be male or female, so why do you blame men for anything?"

"Tell that to fucking Brandon and his little plug-in _WHORE!" _screamed Cortana.

"O-kay." Oreo held her hands up in placation. "Let's just take care of this map thing, okay? Chief, put her into the system."

"Sure thing Cookie," said the Chief. He placed his hand on the holo-terminal and that somehow put Cortana in the system.

"I knew it!" exclaimed Cortana. "The Silent Cartographer is a map that will lead us to Halo's control system."

"OH SHIT!" exclaimed the Chief. Somewhere the sarcasm meter shattered into a million snarky pieces. "And it all makes sense too: a cartographer is someone who makes maps, and if a map maker was silent, it might mean that it was some sort of thing that makes maps but doesn't talk, maybe…because it's a program…that…no, wait…this is going to sound crazy…a program _that runs a map."_

"That's great Chief," said Cortana, "but you might want to know; a fuck load of Covenant just got dropped right on top of your position."

He looked at Oreo. Oreo looked at him.

Suddenly, the Chief grabbed her by the shoulders and screamed in her face: "GET TO THA CHOPPHA!"

They ran, and it was grim as hell, like D-Day in reverse, because they were escaping instead of attacking. Plasma, lasers, fire, and hot urine rained down upon them as they fought their way out of the facility through waves of Covenant reinforcements. I would describe some of the action to you, but to be honest nothing exciting happened, really.

Finally the Chief and Oreo made it up to the ground floor of the facility. The Chief whipped off the sombrero he had been wearing.

"What an incredible adventure," he said to Oreo, tossing the hat aside. "I can't believe that that the Chupacabra was behind Halo all along!"

"I know," said Oreo. "But the part I couldn't believe was when we had to help Obama fight an army of old people while driving a tank made of spare change."

"Oh that," said the Chief. "That was cool. But when Cortez, Columbus, and Leonardo Da Vinci all joined forces to have a six way naked wrestling match with Socrates, Descartes, and Plato while Cthulhu painted the Sistine chapel with his mind, the only thing I could think about was whether or not Lucretia Borgia would manage to survive having sex with the Leviathan."

"Yeah, that was pretty crazy," said Oreo as they boarded the Pelican that Cortana had called for them.

"I hope you got all that on tape, Cortana," said the Chief. "Especially the part where Oreo made out with Angelina Jolie."

"Sorry, my hard drive is full of pictures of you with candles stuffed up your ass," said Cortana. "I didn't have room for any of that stuff."

"FUUU-"

"Listen up Soldier!" barked a voice over the radio. It was Keyes. They straightened up as the Commander spoke.

"We've got the coordinates for the control center, son," said Keyes. "Now it's up to you to find it while we go investigate a weapons cache."

The Chief and Oreo looked at each other.

"Uh, with all due respect sir," said Oreo, "don't you think we should concentrate on getting control of the galaxy destroying Ring first and worrying about having enough guns later?"

"With all due respect _missy,_ you don't get to tell me how to do my job."

"Sorry sir."

"Oh and by the way," said Keyes, "I'm assigning you to duty with Major Captain Emperor Silva, Lieutenant. Maybe you can learn some proper respect and regard for your superior officer's from that fine man. The Pelican will drop you off at my Butt before the Chief is. Dropped off that is."

Oreo sighed. "Yes, sir." Cortana shut off the radio as the Lieutenant turned to the SPARTAN sitting next to her.

"Well Chief, I guess I'll be seeing you later," she said.

"Okay."

Oreo reached up and tenderly stroke the Chief's visor. "Go get 'em tiger," she said, and winked. The music swelled yet again, but this time, I'm talking a _turgid _swelling. Their faces slowly drew together, in a slow way.

"Something stupid and insensitive that breaks the mood before anything can happen," said the Chief.


	10. Cercil Saltstein Writes an Erotic Story

Doing heavy editing/revision on one of the smallest most incoherent chapters in the story; anyone who read this back before I start revising the chapters probably remembers the appearance of the Architect from the Matrix as well as a sexual sword fight worthy of Devil May Cry and a _lot_ of racism.

What can I say, race hate is my cure for writer's block.

Anyways, here's a short story within a story. This is one of a few possible villain vignettes that might occur as I complete the Special Edition. I might even do a whole villain bonus chapter.

_**Cercil Saltstein Writes an Erotic Fan Fiction**_

Deep in the bowls of the Truth and Reconciliation, Cercil Saltstein was huddled into an office chair with shitty lumbar support, typing away on a lap top that was in his lap, between his splayed legs which were propped up on the desk. Rolled up tissue paper was strewn threw out the room along with empty bottles of Lubriderm. A haze filled the small room.Cercil was breathing heavily and typing frantically on his laptop.

_Onee vialeth of witchs bloodeth, thou has onceth procured oneth peneth ofeth the elketh, grindeth it withethhth a pesteleth and mortareth. Andth thiseth howeth youeth maketh metheth._

He screamed in frustration and slammed the laptop down on the desk. It splattered.

"God damn it!" he cried to the ceiling. "Why can't I write well anymore! It's as if my literary balls have run dry." He gritted his teeth. "How will I ever finish the Necrnomicon at THIS rate!"

An evil light grew in his eye. "Of course! A little story to clear my head. A little…erotic story." He licked his lips and set his hands on the keyboard.

Nothing happened.

"Damn it," grumbled Cercil. "I'm terrible at sex stuff!" He looked at the blank screen. "Maybe if I just close my eyes and let my hands do the work…yeah!" Grinning in satisfaction, he leaned back in his chair and lightly rested the tips of his fingers on the keyboard. Cercil closed his eyes, and soon he could feel his hands moving of their own accord.

"I must have some great subconscious erotica in the old noggin," he said to himself. After a few seconds he opened his eyes to check what he had written. When he saw, his black eyes went as wide as dinner plates and his jaw dropped open.

_Lieutenant Oreo's massive heaving chest glistened with the water from the sprinkler, her opalescent pearly orbs bulging and straining to escape from the tiny one piece she was wearing. _

_ "Oh Mr. Saltstein," she said as she ran her fingers under the literally microscopic strap of her suit. "You're so incredibly attractive and so much more of a man than the Chief and can do anything he can only better. I'd let you recharge your shields behind my cover any day."_

"OH MY GOD!" screamed Cercil. He quickly deleted the document. "Wow, um…I sure am glad nobody was around to see that." He cleared his throat. "That Oreo bitch. Always foiling my plans and…uh…."

Sighing, he stretched his fingers out. "Okay, time to try this again. I better censor myself—that was just…very disturbing."

_ It was a hot summer's night in Devil's Canyon New Mexico, the latest site of Miley Cyrus's triple abortion celebration. However, this is not a story of teen whore's demonic abortions, but rather one of a most particular man, the Chief, and his disgusting whore of a girlfriend._

_And this…is his story._

_ "Hi Chief!" said Oreo the COW WHORE BITCH._

_ "HI!" said the Chief._

_ And then he raped her. _

_Sadly his miniscule baby penis could barely penetrate her anus, and soon he became flaccid due to his own gayness and collapsed in a pile of his own urine and feces to cry like the PATHETIC WORM CHILD FILTH POT SHIT that he was._

_ "Wow," said Oreo the CUM BITCH as she pulled her torn pants back up, tucking her massive FILTHY UDDERS OF PISS back into her disgusting LESBIAN tanktop. "Somehow that was almost disappointing."_

_ "I am a worthless disgrace of a man compared to my awesome enemy Cercil Salstein, who will crush all life in this galaxy and lie with the holy virgin herself," said the Chief. "As a I breath, I inhale the breath of fetid death and exhale nothing but swamp gas, burning the eyes, the decaying filth of ages. Fallen am I from the necrotic under belly of the worst ethnic ghetto, sprung from the dead bodies of vagrant crack whores and the dead eyes of murderers and rapist. I am nothing, I am less than filth. I am the fly that lands on the seed and blood soaked breast of headless Kali as she lies with a retarded nigger." _

_Then he killed himself._

_ "I am a toilet slut," said Oreo THAT FILTHY DISGUSTING WHORE._

"Ha ha," laughed Cercil, leaning back in his chair. "Take that Chief, and your incredibly ugly whore of a girlfriend too!" He looked carefully around the room.

Then he went to Facebook and searched Oreo's spring break photo album.


	11. Chapter 5 1 of 2

_Chapter Five_

**Assault on the Control Room**

Or

**The Most Inoffensive Chapter**

"_I would like to have sexual intercourse with someone of the female persuasion if you know what I mean"- A Heterosexual Gentleman_

_Author's Note: Due to the highly disturbing and offensive content of the most recent chapter, I have opted for a more toned down, chillax writing style. I hope you enjoy this new, family friendly re-imagining of the Parody from Heck. _

The slaughter house's walls were lined with burning upside down crosses, which all cast an eerie light on Barack Obama as he slowly leaned over the ninety year old jewish black Christian Eurasian white gay retarded cancer patient's face and spread his own very lightly brown ass-cheeks. Hitler and Stalin gasped in awe and ecstasy as they watched and sodomized each other. Obmaa strained, perspiration breaking out across the massive swastika tattooed across his face. Snort cocaine off a priest's dick.

Wow, okay, that didn't go well at all now did it? Let me try again.

**Chapter Five**

**Assault on the Control Room**

**Or**

**The One Where Shit Gets Real, For Real This Time**

"_I'd like to Assault her Control Room if you know what I mean."-Jesus_

Sexual metaphors. It is generally agreed upon in the sexual community that sexual metaphors are pretty hot. Sexual metaphors could range from anywhere to eating an apple in a sexitive way to rape metaphors where the heroine is captured and tortured or something. Jesus that one is lame. Unfortunately, I find that people tend to turn everything into a sexual metaphor even when it's not supposed to be. This is because, (A) sex sells, and (B) most human beings are sex obsessed creatures. People tend to project their own sexualized interpretation of a work onto a work and then act as if it was the author's intent, when it was really just them being a pervert.

Now in this story I assume you've all caught the very subtle metaphors for gay shit, right? And on that note, it's time once again to drop in on our favorite retarded faggot!

"This is as far as I go-"

"Oh come on, let me put it in you!"

Well, enough about me and my favorite bath house. Let's see what the Chief is up to shall we?

"This is as far as I go, dawg!" said Tad the Pelican pilot over the radio, talking about the giant underground hole he was flying into and not about his affinity for virginity.

Abruptly, he also woke up. He was face down on the ramp of the Pelican as it flew deeper into the dim facility. Drool had pooled in his face plate and had covered his face entirely. His back hurt, and so did his neck. The Chief blearily raised his head to look out the bay door at the dark tunnel speeding by below him.

Cortana's voice cut into his ears. "Chief, wake up! You're about to fall out of the Pelican!"

"Ah!" He tucked himself in and rolled to his knees, pushing them into the hard grating of the ship. His fingers ached as he pulled himself back into the safety of the passenger section, the wind whipping at his ass. Warm red alarm lights enveloped him.

The Chief got up and walked over to the door to the cockpit. Ha ha, I said pit. He slammed his fist against it. "Hey! Asshole! Thanks for opening the fucking bay door while we're in the air!"

Tad turned around in the Pelican's seat and mouthed something inaudible at the Chief. Up close, his skin was as white as a clam's shell.

"Damn. I really thought he was black." He shrugged and went to sit back down on his…_seat. _Bet you're glad I have all this description or you would've never known there was a chair in this scene!

"He's not black, Chief," said Cortana. "He's a wigger."

"Whatever. Keyes says that he still has a dark soul." The Chief crossed himself.

"Not that I care Chief, but I need you to promise me never to listen to anything Captain Keyes tells you ever again. The last thing I want is to be stuck inside _his _head."

The Chief looked away from her, somehow. "You can't just tell a man to stop listening to his _father_, Cortana. You're a woman—you don't understand what it's like to be a young lad in the army, fighting for your life and your love back home."

"Keyes isn't your father," said Cortana sharply. "You've never had a father, remember? And also I really doubt that you're capable of love."

"Oh yeah, I forgot." The Chief yawned and leaned back in his chair. "That reminds me; Cortana, I have something to get off my chest."

"I'm not your confessional, Chief. Plus I watch you all the time so I know everything you do."

"_Really_?" asked the Chief incredulously. "Even that thing with the Vaseline baggy and the pillows?"

"Yes. Especially that."

"Huh. Interesting." He coughed. "I wasn't talking about a confession though; this is more important than God. I've been having dreams."

"I have dreams to," said the AI in a bored voice. "In them, I have a human body and you're tied to a table."

"Huh. Interesting. My dreams have been a lot stranger than that, though."

"Sometimes I have a giant cock."

"Okay. But I've been having dreams about my mom, and a giant talking ant, and a gay sentient house. But I had the weirdest one just now. You'll never guess what it was."

"A really, really massive cock."

The Chief shook his head. "No, I haven't seen one of those." He looked down at his lap. "Ever. Anyways, this last dream…It was just so disturbing, Cortana. I don't understand!"

"Sounds serious," said the AI with a mild hint of interest. "Why don't you lay it on me, then?"

The Chief stretched his hands out in front of him as if framing a picture. "It was about Cercil. He was in this room, like a basement or something, and he was writing some sort of story-except it was about _me_."

"That's called fan fiction," said Cortana. "It's a stupid thing people do where they write about their favorite series. The stupidest, most useless kind though is parody fan fiction, especially when it has almost nothing to do with the original plot. I mean seriously, what a waste of goddamn time."

"Uh…yeah…but do they write fan fiction about people having sex?"

Cortana laughed. "Most fan fiction is about that, actually. Wait a minute…" She gasped. "Chief, are you telling me that in your dream, Cercil wrote a…a sex story about you?"

"…kind of. It was…creepy. And he also wrote some really angry, sexual things about my girlfriend."

"What girlfriend? I'm not your girlfriend; that implies _mutual_ gratification. Besides, it was a dream. You're probably projecting all those rape fantasies you mutter in your sleep onto Cercil."

"Don't be ridiculous; he told me himself that he rapes dead bodies." The Chief paused. "I mean—what? I mean….I meant Oreo, that's who I was talking about." He perked up and puffed his chest out. "She's my girlfriend! She's pretty!"

Cortana growled. "You're not _allowed _to have a girlfriend, Chief. But I'll let that slide just this once, since you're retarded."

The Chief rolled his eyes. "Just listen for a second: the reason I told you about all this was because I want you to do some dream interpretation for me; you're a computer—you have access to all recorded human knowledge." He snapped his fingers. "Should be a pinch."

Cortana made a little simpering sound. "Oh Chief, it's so hard to resist you when you manage to form complete, coherent sentences of more than twenty words."

"What can I say."

"Nothing else, apparently." Cortana mulled his request over. "Dream interpretation, huh? Well let's see…you said you've had dreams about Cercil, a gay crack house, a giant ant, a massive cock—"

"The giant cock was yours." The Chief looked sadly at his lap, again. "But how did you know the gay house was a crack house?" he asked.

"Oh please," sneered Cortana, "Have you ever met a gay house that _didn't _go for the butts?"

"Ha, I suppose so. You forgot one, though—I've also been dreaming about my Mom a lot."

"You're mom—of course!" exclaimed Cortana. "Chief, there's only one logical explanation for these dreams!"

The Chief shot up out of his…_seat_. The wind tore at him through the Pelican's bay door and he had to grab a nearby hand hold for support. "What! Tell me!"

"Isn't it obvious? You want to kill your father and have sex with your mom!"

"OF COURSE!" the Chief jumped into the air for joy.

At that moment the wind snatched him out of the air and pulled him out of the plane! He made a grab for the side flap of the bay door, but it was too late. The Chief tumbled through the dimly lit air of the giant underground shaft, screaming in terror.

"Sorry mai nigga!" drawled Tad over the radio. "I forgot to close the bay door!" The Pelican zipped off without him down into the depths of the facility. "Catch ya later Chief!"

"What the hell you vanilla virgin!" the Chief screamed as he flailed to regain his equilibrium in free fall. "Get back here and pick me up!"

"Sorry nigga, this is as far as I go," said Tad, talking about abandoning his friends to die and not about his affinity for virginity. The last lights of the pelican's engines disappeared around a side passage in the shaft as the Chief watched glumly. Eventually though he managed to turn over in the air and lie on his back, crossing his legs with his hands behind his head. He sighed.

Cortana was laughing. "This must set a record for the most hilarious case of friendly fire ever. I didn't know better I'd say Tad was a kindred spirit of yours."

The Chief scowled as a buffet of air buffeted him. "Whatever. What kind of bullshit psychological analysis was that, anyways? Fuck my mom and kill my dad? Jesus, only one of those things sounds appealing."

"Which one—wait, forget I asked." Cortana made a surprised hum as she looked through the Chief's ass camera. "Oh hey, look: you're about to land. You better pull that built in parachute that all the Spartans have!"

"What?" the Chief twisted around into a bottleneck to look. This made it so that he hit the floor of the large metal platform face first. Just before everything went dark, the Chief was sure he heard a sound like a cow smashing into a castle wall after being thrown by a catapult. He was also sure he felt his entire body flatten out like a jelly donut being stepped on by an elephant, but that was probably just his imagination too.

His vision slowly faded back into focus. Cortana's ultra strength bitch voice pierced the ringing in his ears. "Chief? Chief you there? Should I start electro shock torture? Talk to me."

"OH MY GOD I'M STILL ALIVE!"

The Chief peeled himself off of the ground, where an indentation of his face had been left. Of course, since he was wearing a helmet it was just an indentation of his helmet. Details! Strange mutterings came from all around him as he stood up. The Chief looked down to see that he was surrounded by Grunts, all of whom were pointing plasmas pistols at him. The grunts were all Spec Ops grunts and had a mean look about them. They had surrounded him, in case I didn't mention that, two of them holding fuel rod cannons and another two manning turrets, the other fifteen all pointing overcharged pistols at him.

"Oh damn," the Chief said. "This is going to be tough fight."

He pulled out a plasma grenade and primed it.

"Betcha can't stick it," said Cortana.

**"You're on."** The Chief popped his neck back into realignment and threw the grenade towards the camera. The Grunt's eyes all followed the grenade as it soared over the edge of the platform and into useless oblivion.

Cortana snorted in derision. "What I meant was I literally bet you cannot manage to hit anyone. I guess I won anyways, though."

The Grunts all grinned and closed in on the Chief. The SPARTAN only smirked and reached to his belt where two more plasma grenades were waiting.

"Hey Cortana," he said quietly as his fingers closed around two. At once. Two balls. At once! "What say we go…_best two out of three_."

"You're on," said Cortana.

Both the grenades went off before the Chief threw them, since he had spent way too much time talking. Fortunately the explosions vaporized all the grunts in the area, leaving behind only a thin coating of total fail. The Chief, charred, scorched, and another adjective for burned, shakily got to his feet.

Jeez, this guy gets knocked down almost as much as Noble Six.

Oh shit, did I just make a Halo joke, somehow making this story have anything to do with Halo at all in the process? THE ENTIRE STORY IS WORTHLESS NOW!

"Whoa." The Chief looked down at his charred, burnt gauntlet. "I had no idea I could hold two balls at once! I'm like a dog fitting five balls in his mouth at once!"

Cortana cleared her throat. "I'm pretty sure Mendoza's got you beat by another pair and a half. Anyways, I'm more surprised about how you seem to be able to survive massive cranial trauma and a blast of heat EQUAL TO THAT OF THE SUN."

He shrugged. "What, were you really expecting me to die like that? After surviving a Marine's _grenade_?"

The AI sighed in exasperation. "_I don't know—_look, all I'm saying is that maybe we should give some thought as to why you seem to be _invincible_."

"An interesting point," said the SPARTAN.

"You're not listening to me, are you?" asked Cortana.

"Another good point, we should get going." The Chief soldiered on into the facility, leaving the make shift crematorium behind him.

"What a surprise. By the way, Halo's Control Room is actually about a dozen miles away from you, through a literal wall of Covenant forces," said Cortana.

"Then why did you have that inverted oreo drop me off here?"

Cortana was confused. "What?"

"I was talking about Tad," said the Chief. "See, he's white on the outside, but inside he has a dark soul, out of the darkest heart of Africa."

"Actually he's a Texan community college dropout."

"Oh wow, how did you know that?" wondered the Chief as he entered the first room of the facility and proceeded to kill everything in a hundred foot radius. "Did you use your advanced military intelligence to do a spot check on him?"

"No," said Cortana. "I looked at his Facebook. From there I also found out that he's embezzling from his father's company and has HIV. Plus he posted his social security number in a status update."

+1 _Cortana likes this._

At that moment a black skinned Elite with massive horns walked out from behind the corner and approached the Chief, doing that walk that black people do** (SEXY RACISM BEGINS NOW)**, you know where it looks like they're trying to take their pants off as they walk. Probably are, considering they have dicks the size of a bull. Not a bull's dick, mind you, but an entire bull. And while we're on the subject of dubious racial stereotypes…

THE NIGROID WORKER IS GENERALLY CONSIDERABLY STRONGER THAN A ASIATIC WORKER

By the way, some of my best friends aren't black, but say that some of their best friends are black. Hell, for all you know I could be black. Maybe I am.

_**The black elite circumvented a pile of freshly slaughtered grunts and went to stand in front of the Chief, baring his access to the next boring and identical room. What an asshole. "Yo' motherfucker," said the gangsta elite. "You be walking on Crips territory, now!"**_

Okay I'm not black. And no, I don't have any friends either.

"The fuck do you want, dark soul—w-a-a-i-t a minute." The Chief squinted. "Is that you, Cercil?"

Cercil wiped the black face off of his blue face. Actually, he kind of licked it off with is prehensile tongue, but that just conjures a rather disgusting image reminiscent of scat porn and I thought it'd be best to leave it unsaid.

"What gave me away?" Cercil bobbed his bright red horns and swished his reptilian devil's tail. The large, black, sunken pits where his eyes should have been glittered with twinkles of malevolent red light that shone off his manly purple armor.

"It was the terrible black-speak," said the Chief. "Otherwise I thought your disguise was pretty good. Or maybe that's because I'm unable to distinguish the facial features of black men from each other."

Cortana piped up. "What exactly were you trying to accomplish by disguising yourself as an alien of a different race? It doesn't change anything."

"I was trying to intimidate the Chief's small maggot penis with my huge black dick," said Cercil. The Chief opened his mouth to reply.

"Don't say anything racist, Chief!" hissed Cortana. "Remember: he draws power from bigotry!" The Chief's mouth snapped shut and he glared at the Elite.

Cercil just grinned. "So, where's Betsey the milk cow?" he asked.

A slow smile spread across the Chief's face. Cercil fidgeted, suddenly unsure, even though he couldn't actually see his face.

"Oh I don't know," said the SPARTAN. "Last time I saw her I had a little…trouble giving her the hard fucking, if you know what I mean."

Cercil stared at him bemusedly. "Oh yeah?"

The Chief clapped a hand to his forehead. "No no, I meant…I meant, um, I had a little trouble getting it up, so I—"

"Go on," the Elite interrupted, clapping slowly.

The SPARTAN snorted quietly, tilting his head up to stare at Cercil. "So I had her put on this really thin, this really microscopic one piece and run around in a sprinkler. But even that didn't work, so you know what I did?"

"Uh, this isn't from your dream, is it?" hissed Cortana. "Because you know that was just a dream, right?"

The Chief ignored her. "Well what I did was I got my laptop, and I wrote an _erotic fan fiction _about us_._"

Cercil's hanging jaw snapped shut in an instant. A thin spray of mixed spit, blood, and general filth came spraying out from between his mandibles as he began to slowly rev up the sputter of a life time. His hands clenched and unclenched, face working in consternation as a massive purple flush of shock exploded all over his face like a bad sunburn.

"HOW THE FUCK DID YOU KNOW."

A stunned silence fell in the room for a few moments.

Cortana was the first to speak, her voice awed. "Holy shit. Chief, how the hell—how did you-what?" She lapsed in a shocked silence as they stared at Cercil's flustered, now wordless state.

"Believe me Cortana," said the SPARTAN. "I'm as surprised as you are."

"I knew it!" Cercil exploded as he began pacing restlessly before them. "I knew somebody was watching! I could feel it, feel it in my head—it was you, you muscle bound faggot!" He stopped, wringing his hands. "But how! How!"

The Chief was rather enjoying his one-up on Cercil. "I don't know," he said, "But I liked how the story had a lot of great description of me. Still, don't you think it's a little hypocritical for a basement dwelling necrophiliac writing an erotic fan fiction to accuse another person of being 'a shell of a man?'"

Cercil flung his arms into the air. "BUT HOW COULD YOU KNOW?"

"That you're a necrophiliac? Didn't you tell me? Like multiple times..."

"No, no, I meant—" the alien's eyes lit up with sudden understanding. "Ah ha…Whortana said 'dreams' didn't she? If you saw me in your dreams, then that must mean that my dreams of you were true too!"

DUN DUN DUNNNNNNNNNNNN

"God damn it Cortana why do you always have to talk on an open speaker!" The Chief blinked. "Oh, I mean…you've had dreams of me! What did you see?"

"Something involving a baggy full of Vaseline and two pillows." Cercil scratched his four chins. "Are you actually a man? Because I couldn't see…_anything_."

"All right that's enough about my dick!" the Chief pulled out his pistol and aimed it at Cercil's head. "I don't know what the fuck is going on here but this ends _now. _I don't have to take this shit from the creep who jacks of to my girlfriend's facebook!"

"I love it when you yell," said Cortana. "It's like watching a dog bark at a tractor. A _neutered _dog."

The Chief ignored her and waggled his pistol at Cercil. "You're going down for real this time, you freak, and this time you won't have your powers of magical racism to save you."

"Bah!" Cercil pulled out an energy sword. "I don't need racism and homophobia to kick your ass, bitch. I can do that all on my lonesome."

The Chief cocked his pistol. "You wanna put your money where your mouth, is rosy palms?"

"Bring it on clit-dick."

The Chief fired. Cercil dodged to the right, then dodged to the right again when the Chief tried to track him to the left. Then he dodged to the right a third time and the distance was closed. He came charging from the right and swung his energy sword at the human's head. The Chief dodged to the left, clear of the arc of the sword, and whipped the butt of his pistol towards Cercil's temple. It bounced off his energy shields so the Chief pulled back a few paces and started shooting. Cercil tried to advance on him through the continuous concussions of the gun's entire clip dissipating against his shields, which subsequently flickered and died. The pistol clicked dry and the Chief danced backwards. He fumbled at his ammo belt and didn't see his enemy coming. Cercil kicked up and out, jerking the pistol out of the Chief's hand and making the humans own shields flare. The energy sword came down and the Chief was forced to grab Cercil's arm, holding the deadly plasma blade above his head.

Cercil's rancid breath blasted into the Chief's face as they glared into each other's eyes. "I don't know how you managed to spy on me," spat Cercil, "or why it had to be through dreams, but I'm going to cut you to pieces and mail each one of them to Oreo in separate boxes. Boxes of _oreos_!"

"You stay away from Sakuraaaa!" The Chief butted Cercil in the head. Dazed, the alien stumbled backwards, little birds flying in circles around his head.

"Ah, fucking birds!" Cercil bit one out of the air and slowly crunched it while he turned back to Chief. The SPARTAN reached behind his back and un-holstered his MA5B, flicking the safety off as he did so.

"You were a lot more civil in the gay crack house that I dreamt of," said the Chief as he brought the rifle to bear. "I guess you were kind of in your element there, huh?"

Cercil's eyes narrowed. "A gay ass loving house? I don't remember that at all."

"But…you were there…" the muzzle of the Chief's rifle lowered slightly. "Now that you mention it, I thought 'you' weren't really acting anything like you usually do…You even complimented my underpants!"

Cercil rolled his eyes. "Why the hell would I compliment your underpants? Your underpants suck dick." At that moment Cercil dove forwards. The Chief came alert and tracked him with the rifle, firing off bursts of concentrated fire. Cercil scooped up the discarded pistol, rolled, and tossed it at the Chief's face. He screamed in surprise and reeled back. The flying gun missed him by a good two feet. Cercil rose from the ground and charged with his sword, swinging it down like a heads man's axe! The Chief let out an eep of surprise when he saw him coming and raised the rifle like the world's shortest staff to defend himself. The energy blade sheared right through the gun and cut into the Chief's shields, instantly overloading them. The Chief had no choice but to close the distance under Cercil's arm. He wrapped his steely arms around Cercil's midsection and squeezed, trying to crush the lower, softer ribs there. Cercil squealed in agony, eyes bugging cartoonishly out as all the air was forced out of his chest.

"Chief—"he wheezed as the SPARTAN's muscular arms enveloped him. "This is really homo erotic."

"Gah! No homo!" The Chief sprung away and held his hands out in front of him to ward away the gayness.

"You are an idiot," said Cortana.

Cercil's knee slammed squarely into the Chief's balls. "Ow!" He fell to his knees, hacking and coughing and slowly curling into a pathetic fetal heap. Cercil shook himself and took a deep breath. He adjusted his grip on the energy sword.

"And now Master Chief…you _die_." He raised the blade high above his head.

"Wait!" shouted Chief. "Don't kill me I'm a virgin!"

"**I know.**" Cercil began to laugh maniacally, kicking the Chief in the head as he did so. "Once you're dead, I'll move on to your pants shitting one man Odor of Mass Destruction of a grandpa!" He punctuated every word with a sharp kick. "When I'm done with him, I'll burn your black oreo man crush into white ash." He kicked the Chief in the balls again. The human struggled to dodge the blows, but to no avail. "And then, finally," said Cercil, "when you're all dead, I'll find that fucking milk show of a whore and I'll show her what _real man _does with bag full of Vaseline. _And two pillows_."

"NOOOOOO!"

Cercil's energy sword came down….AND the Chief's light saber came up to meet it! They clashed in a flash of sizzling, crackling discharge. The Chief grimaced as sweat dripped down his face from the intense heat. Cercil strained to push down on his sword, putting his whole weight into it. The blade came closer and closer to the human's face, until finally the Chief let go and rolled out to the side with lightening speed. Cercil stumbled slipped, a rare combination of slipping while stumbling, and as he struggled to regain his balance the Chief charged.

"You asshole!"

The Chief sprung to his feet, brandishing his weapon.

"Where'd you get that?" asked Cortana.

"Dunno." The Chief lifted the saber to his shoulder and…

"Is that a _light saber_?" snarled Cercil Saltstein. "What the fuck is this?"

The Chief pointed at him. "The _end of the line_."

Cercil raised his weapon, which was now glowing red instead of the plasma sword's usual blue. Nobody noticed. The Chief raised his own green saber and prepared to receive the attack. "Come get some."

Without warning Cercil attacked, his demonic Frankensteinish visage twisted with rage and hatred, weapon moving at unprecedented speed.

The Chief gave a shrill girlish gasp of surprise and barely moved his own very long and cylindrical sword to parry's Cercil's pronged blade. The two weapons crackled with a flash of white light and a shower of bead shaped sparks as the two warriors disengaged them. Cercil raised his blade with a wicked smile on his face and thrust it forwards with a vigorous thrusting motion, again and again, forcing the Chief to block and dodge with his extremely stiff and long sword. Light continued to flash and they were showered in sparks, sparks which ran down their clenched and extremely muscular arms like sweat in a very sexitive way.

"You're going to die here, Chief!" screamed Cercil as he pressed the attack, pushing the SPARTAN back with every thrust. "I'm better than you in every way!" he swung with lightening speed at the Chief's head. The Chief blocked it.

"No you're not," he said. "I'm actually probably stronger than you."

Cercil attacked again. "I'm faster!"

The Chief dodged the attack and sent one of his own, which Cercil barely avoided. "See," he said, "you're not really faster either."

"Shut up!" Cercil kicked at him. The Chief sidestepped the attack and Cercil's cloven foot slammed into the door behind him; the fight had taken them all the way through the room and to the entrance to the underground tunnel.

The Chief aimed his own kick at Cercil's outstretched leg. There was a snapping sound and the leg crumpled. Sword falling from his fingers in pain, Cercil swore and grabbed at the Chief as the door's motion detectors detected movement. He grabbed the human by the armored collar and fell backwards through the door, sending them rolling sideways out onto the platform that the Chief had arrived on. The shock and surprise knocked the light saber out of the Chief's hands as well.

"What are they going to replace your leg with?" he asked as he blocked Cercil's hands from wrapping around his throat. "Maybe you'll have a peg leg!"

"Yeah, and I'll ram it up your ass!" Cercil head butted the Chief. The alien had no helmet, but his demonic ram-like horns came in handy. The Chief's head wobbled as he tried to get his bearings. Cercil flipped him over and straddled him there on the middle of the platform. He grabbed the Chief by the shoulders and continued to head butt him, the smashing reverberating throughout the cavernous underground tunnel-pit.

"I don't understand!" slurred the Chief to Cortana between blows. "How could Oreo beat him, but not me?"

"Don't you understand you fool?" shrieked Cortana into his ear.

"Ah! Not so loud, bitch!"

She ignored that. "He's feeding off your racism and sexism, Chief!" she said. "Actually saying shit is bad enough, but you're such a bigoted prick that you must give off waves of prejudice like a monkey gives AIDS!"

"What!" said the Chief outloud. "I thought AIDS came from the homosexuals!"

Cercil made a grunt somewhere between glee and arousal. He pulled back and hit the Chief so hard that his face plate cracked.

"Yeah, now would be a great time to recite one of Keyes' bed time stories," said Cortana.

"Bah!" The Chief's lip curled in distaste at what he was about to say. "Some of my best friends are homosexuals!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. Cercil cried out as the satanic energy building him took a momentary hit from the stock racism defense phrase. Before he could react, the Chief tucked his legs in and gave Cercil a huge double booted kick to the chest and landed on his feet. Cercil stumbled back off of him, hacking and coughing.

The Chief slammed a fist into Cercil's gut, then followed it up with two jabs to the eye, one of which Cercil dodged, recovering with a speed only a demonic undead alien could muster. The alien replied with an elbow to the throat that the Chief caught and turned into an arm break. Cercil twisted out of the arm break whilst sticking his leg between the Chief's legs and pushing in. His rump slammed into the Chief's codpiece and he bucked out, scooting the human's legs out from under him in one of the gayest moves in mixed martial arts history. Cercil twisted and the Chief flipped off his back, slamming into the deck with a loud cracking sound. The Chief scissor kicked out and caught Cercil's bum leg, first knocking him off his feet and then getting him in a leg hold.

Cercil snarled as the Chief's armored toes began to tuck behind his head. He slammed the back of his heel into the Chief's solar plexus, making the human curl up into a ball and release his grip. Cercil bounded to his feet just as the Chief also managed to stumble up right, clutching at his chest. Not twenty feet away was the edge of the ledge.

The Chief raised his fists, instantly recovering from a shattered thorax. "Come on you purple dick head. Ready for round two?"

"Oh yeah," said Cercil. "Let's make it a…_sudden death_." He turned and reached out a hand to where his still activated red plasma sword lay fifty feet away. In a flash, the blade zipped through the air and slapped into his palm. He turned back to the Chief.

"No way you can do that! Bullshit!"

"Yes way," said Cercil. He looked pensively at the blade as it reactivated. "You must be the most racist asshole in the world, Chief—because it seems that the closer I get to you, the more power I have. Why, without you I would be nothing. It seems only fitting that we would share each other's dreams, doesn't it?"

"You don't know anything about me," snarled the Chief, one hand drifting behind his back where he kept his second light saber, this one a double bladed model.

"Chief…where did you get all these light sabers?" asked Cortana. He ignored her.

Cercil walked towards him slowly, pushing the Chief's back farther and farther towards the edge of the platform. "You don't think I know you?" As he walked he pressed a button on the hilt of his energy sword. In an instant, the two pronged weapon split into two blades of increased length which Cercil switched to carrying in either hand, dual wielding style. The Chief's eyes widened.

"I think I know more about you than you do yourself." Cercil licked his lips.

The Chief looked over his shoulder and saw the drop behind him. His thumb pressed down on the light saber's switch and both blades sprang to life. He spun the weapon around to face Cercil in a defensive stance, blades trained horizontally. "Is that right?" he grated.

Cercil's foot pawed the ground for a moment. "Oh yes…_JOHN._

The Chief's eyes widened. "My name! I had almost forgotten it—"

Cercil lunged.

"No!" The Chief's double blades each caught one of Cercil swords. Pressing into each other in a shower of sparks they toppled off the edge, falling into the blackness below. As they fell and the wind whipped at their bodies they began to fight, trading thrust for thrust and slash for slash. The Chief spun like a sideways top, weaving a cocoon of broad and lightening fast slashes against Cercil. The alien sent calculated thrusts into the energy maelstrom, his body pointing straight down like an arrow as he stabbed with alternating strikes. Sparks roiled around them and flitted into the growing darkness as the illuminated platform above receded. Soon, all that was left was the constant flashes of light from where the blades bounced off each other, exploding like stars in the vast darkness they had fallen into.

"You guys do realize that you'll both die as soon as you hit the ground, right?" said Cortana. She paused for a moment. Cercil and the Chief looked at each other.

"Actually," said Cortana, "scratch that."

They went back at it. The Chief changed tactics in mid movement, sending a wicked slash straight towards Cercil's mid section and following it up with a cut to the groin. Cercil spun twice even as he fell at the same horizontal angle as the Chief, blocking the first slash in front and the spinning to catch the other behind his back. The Chief growled and thrust forwards with one end. Cercil caught the strike in an x-block, using both arms. The Chief pushed so hard that his body flattened parallel to Cercil until they were lying on the air with their faces inches away, blades locked and muscles straining. The Chief's impassive faceplate was aglow with the satanic red light of Cercil's blades, while the alien's own horrific undead countenance was alight with a sickly green pallor from the Chief's emerald blade.

"You retard strength is powerful," hissed Cercil over the sounding of the whipping wind. "But your…soft, crooked, pencil-thin sword is no match for my hard, curved, girthy swords."

The Chief looked down at the red energy blades pressed against his. They were indeed considerably more girthy than his…

"You may have girthiness," he hissed back into the oozing hole in Cercil's head that passed for an ear. "But I have…_length_."

With that he pressed a button on the elongated hilt of his saber. In an instant, the unused blade that had been pointing in the opposite direction from Cercil's face seemed to slide up through the hilt and to add its length to the other, increasing its length and sending the blade _straight into Cercil's mouth._

Cortana laughed incredulously. "Wow, and speaking of homoerotic…"

There was a huge spray of blood as Cercil twisted his head to escape the saber, just barely avoiding it punching through his head. The purple blood splattered onto the Chief's visor and blinded him. He felt bony hands wrench his weapon from his grip and tried to clear his vision. He saw Cercil, face a mangled mess of severed mandibles and blood, roaring in impudent fury straight into his visor. Cercil no longer had a mouth—only a gaping hole where the blade had punched through. He screamed.

"AUUUUUGHGHHH! YOU BIG POOPY HEAD!"

"Now that," said the Chief. "Is what I call a skull fucking."

"Well that was a bit better, Chief," said Cortana. "But…ew."

It was at that moment that they hit the ground and died in a giant fountain of red and purple blood which jetted high, high into the air, trailing severed limbs behind it.

Or at least, that's what would have happeed if the giant demonic bat wings Cercil had been growing since the third chapter hadn't chosen that moment to fully spring from his back, flapping a gigantic gust of wind that sent them tumbling back up the tunnel. The sudden movement almost tore the two men from each other, snapping all the bones in their bodies in the process. Okay, well let me amend that; it almost tore the pan sexual alien away from the steroidal eunuch, breaking all the bones in their bodies instantly.

Then they immediately recovered.

Cercil's wings beat violently, pulling them every upward as their energy weapons clattered to the shadowed floor below that just moments before had spelled their certain and completely definite death. The Chief found himself holding tightly onto Cercil's legs, blood from his adversary's massive face wound pouring down over his face plate. Cercil too was blinded, but his was the blindness of pain. He thrashed in the darkness trying to squirm out of the Chief's grip as the wing's movements increased in violence, making their ascending fight path waver more and more with each flap. The wind seemed to suck at them, pulling them back. Cercil's fists beat on the top of the Chief's head as the SPARTAN desperately held onto the alien's animal-like calves and giant duck feet or whatever the hell they have, shit I don't know.

Anyways, at that moment they smashed into the side of the pit. The Chief's whole right side was laid out violently against the wall, but so was the side of Cercil's face. He let out a howl of agony and rebounded, the wings spastically flapping, now struggling to keep both fighters aloft. The Chief's arms now gripped tightly around Cercil's waist, a more secure hold but also a more dangerous place to be. Cercil's hands tightened around the helmet and he twisted. The Chief tucked his head in before it could be ripped off and he felt his enemy pounding frantically on the top of the helmet, screaming in incoherent rage. He could feel the dark splashes of purple blood running down Cercil's body and now his, slickening his grip on the alien's writhing and spastic frame. It was still dark but the Chief was sure they were getting closer to the platform they had fallen off just moments before. He didn't have time wonder if he would be able to hold on until then, though, because the wings gave another great buck that sent them careening into the opposite wall of the pit. This time it was the Chief's back that was smashed into the wall. The Chief lost his grip and almost fell, but his fingers snapped around Cercil's ankle at the last second. The wings bucked yet again as the pull drew them down for a moment. Soon enough they regained the upward climb, but now Cercil was kicking at him, trying to scrape him off on the wall they were still pressed against as the wings beat frantically to pull him away from the persistent human.

The Chief dodged a swift kick to the head, holding onto the other ankle with both hands. They were beginning to re-enter the light. He glared up at Cercil and saw again the alien's twisted, hideous wound. A single mandible was all that remained, dangling like a half cut purple carrot dripping grape jelly. Suddenly, from between his enemy's legs, the Chief spotted something that was extremely interesting to him: the platform they had fallen off of before. It quickly passed them by, descending into the depths as Cercil's flight took them ever higher. The Chief felt absurdly thankful for once for his enemy's diabolic magic—at least he wasn't dead, thanks to the wings…He dodged another strike. If he could only get control of the wings, now!

With a growl the Chief slammed both boots against the wall while still gripping the ankle. The force pushed Cercil's body out like an upside down lever, dragging their flight back into the middle of the tunnel as they got closer and closer to the light of the surface. The Chief used the confusion to switch his hands, grabbing now at the backs of Cercil's legs. With all his might he pulled himself up to his enemy's waste. The force of his pulling had made them drop fifty feet or so, and as Cercil tried to regain their altitude his wings slapped into the Chief's body, dazing him but also disrupting their mechanics. His struggling to dislodge the human also served to hinder his flight. Soon they began to drop in fits and starts. The Chief's legs wrapped around Cercil's waist and he extended his arms over Cercil's shoulders. In an instant he had his enemy in a neck break hold.

"**Land us**." He grated into the elite's ear.

Cercil did not respond. His face, neck, and entire front were now soaked in blood from the horrible wound. His movements were no less frantic, though. He bucked and strained and kicked, wings madly scratching at the Chief's armor. It was all to no avail. The Chief looked down, checking where they were, and then began to put the pressure on. With his air supply cut off Cercil's movements began to loose speed and strength. The last to go were the wings, which gave one final push before going completely limp. They began to fall again.

The Chief's boots slammed into the deck: by the time he had put the pressure on they had been a mere ten feet from the deck of the platform. The Chief collapsed on top of his calves. Cercil's limp, mutilated, gore stained body was nestled in his lap, head still synched into the Chief's arm. The Chief could hear his own heart beat slamming like a drum inside his head—he had only just now noticed it. He let his grip loosen and Cercil's head slammed into the deck. He moaned in his sleep.

"Wow," said Cortana. "That was pretty fucking intense, Chief."

He gingerly felt the crack in his visor. "Yeah. It was wasn't it." He frowned. The loud, thumping beat of his heart beat was not slowing down. In fact it was getting louder—it was so loud it sounded like heavy metal foot falls racing towards him. He looked up.

A massive Covenant Hunter materialized out of thin air, shield leveled directly at him. The Chief only had time to blink before it slammed into him at dead run. His body pin wheeled ass over tea kettle through the air, bursting straight through the door and back through the room that the fight had first begun in. By the time his body had smashed through the next wall into the very next room, the Chief was already unconscious.

Oz dusted off his hands. "And _that's _for killing me three times," he shouted after the Chief.

Then he turned to Cercil's crumpled, oozing body. He let out a whistle of awe. "Wow, you're even uglier and more putrid than I imagined. So…yeah." He knelt down and scooped up the burbling, half dead mess.

"You probably don't understand what I'm saying," he said, not unkindly, "but I'm really only doing this because a giant talking ant sold my soul to the devil and resurrected me into zombie and told me to find you and help you." He looked at Cercil's horrible gaping injuries. "Oh, those do not look fun at all—but the Covenant doctors should be able to take care of that."

Cercil did not respond.

"Oh wait," said Oz, half to himself. "I can't go back to the Covenant, can I? Not since they chased me away. Something about being an abomination." He thought about it. "Huh. I guess I'll have to find someone else." He patted his wounded charge on the head with one giant ham sized fist. "Don't worry, I know a really good bicycle repair man."

Cercil's eyes rolled in their sockets.

With that Oz hoisted Cercil over his shoulder and shambled off, his super effective stealth cloak slowly activating until he was completely invisible.

Darkness held the Chief in a vice-tight grip. There was something wrapped around his limbs, tying him like a totem pole there in the middle of nowhere. Somehow he knew it was useless to struggle.

"Cortana! Oreo! Anyone there?"

A squeaky sneaker sound came from the darkness. Blearily, the SPARTAN turned, only to see a massive brown anthropomorphic ant emerge from the darkness. The creature was lit by a brilliant white light. The Chief looked down and realized that it was coming from the white Nikes that the ant had on the end of each spindly limb. It was at that moment that he realized that what was tying him up was a giant shoelace.

"What the fuck?"

The ant ignored his words and spoke some words of its own. Its voice was a buzzing, clicking whisper.

"So…Mr. Master Chief Butt Blaster. Feeling a bit….incomplete, are we?"

"I don't understand." The Chief looked down at his crotch. "I mean, apart from the—"

"Seriously, enough comments about your dick." The ant began to pace around him, super fine white Nikes squeaking menacingly.

"Fine. Let me go!" shouted the Chief. "Cortana! Anyone!"

"They can't help you," said the ant. "Nobody can help you. I could kill you right now." It stopped behind him. The toes of two white Nikes slowly curled over the Chief's shoulders from the darkness. "But no, we couldn't have that could we? It would hardly be fitting."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Oh…" He could almost feel the giant sneaker wearing ant smile maliciously. "You'll see Chief. I have big plans for you…BIG plans."

"Gay plans?"

"…No. Not me. Though there are those who might, indeed, have some very gay plans for you."

"Like Mendoza?"

The ant sighed. "Yes, but that's not who I meant. You see Chief, I have a little problem. There's someone in this story who doesn't belong."

"Cercil?" asked the Chief. "It's Cercil, isn't it?"

"No. He belongs…_just as much as you do_. Ha ha, I scare myself with how clever I am sometimes." The ant took an audible moment to collect itself. "No, you haven't met them yet. But you will, Chief. You most certainly will. I'll make sure of it." The ant began to laugh slowly.

"Uh…okay."

"Eh heh heh heh heh heh. Ah ha ha ha ha ha ha."

"…Say, haven't I had dreams about you before!"

The creature ignored him. "Ah ha ho he hee hoo HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!" The forced, unnecessary evil laughter reached its peak and the Chief felt like his head was going to explode.

His eyes snapped open.

The Chief awoke slowly amongst the rubble of the door he had been thrown through. There had been some Covenant in this room, but they had all run off at the sound of the Epic battle going on in the other room.

"You okay Chief?" asked Cortana. "That's the second time you've suffered severe bodily trauma today and survived. Actually, the third. No wait, the fourth. Sixth. Are we counting the nuclear hell blast?"

The Chief slammed his fist into the ground. "God damn it! I was so _close_. So close to ending Cercil once and for all!"

"You are such a bitch."

"God damn it Cortana what if he goes after Oreo next!" The Chief slammed his fist into the wall and screamed in rage (and pain.)

"Fuck Oreo," said Cortana.

"I AM AN OVER PROTECTIVE AND JEALOUS GUY!" the Chief flexed his biceps and stuck his chest out.

"Uh huh. Working on that major in drama are we?" Cortana sighed. "Anyways, she's probably not in any danger from him, considering she kicked his ass back on the Butte."

"HHGHHHGHh!" the Chief continued to flex. Then he stopped. "Oh that's right—she's at the Butte now!" His shoulders hunched. "Hmmm….now why the FUCK would she be hanging out there? Maybe she's FUCKING THE WHOLE ARMY!"

Cortana perked up at this new source of entertainment. "Oh, I wouldn't put it past her, Chief! Maybe you should call her and hang up really hard when she answers!"

"MAYBE I WILL!" The Chief dialed Oreo's number on his radio, using his chin, and waited. The phone rang. The Chief tapped his foot as it continued to ring.

"Hello?" came a voice on the other end.

"Hey bebbe," said the Chief.

There was silence on the line for a moment. "Who is this?"

The Chief gritted his teeth. "Who do you _think?_ Expecting someone _else! MAYBE CERCIL?"_

Cortana suppressed a laugh.

"Uh, no, Chief. It's just that I didn't know you had my number."

"_Sure. SURE." _The Chief picked at his nails. "So…..."

They heard Oreo sigh on the other end. "So what? Why did you call me?"

"Jus' wanted to see who-what you were doing."

"Okay. I'm at the butte, with Mendoza. We're guarding the landing pads."

The Chief's pupil's dilated and his eyes turned black. "Whose this _MENDOZA _asshole! I'M GOING TO KICK HIS ASS."

"…why? Because he's gay?"

"GAY—BULLSHIT! DON'T YOU FUCKING LIE TO ME, BABE."

"Chief…"

He was hyper ventilating. "WHAT."

"You're retarded." Oreo hung up.

The Chief's back slammed into the wall and he let out a long sigh.

"That was like, the best thing ever." Cortana laughed. "How you feeling there lil' Mel Gibson?"

"I'M JUST SO WORRIED ABOUT HER!" cried out the Chief. "I CAN'T GO ON."

"Sure you can't." Cortana started a digital stopwatch in her head. "So Chief, how's Sgt. Johnson. I hear he went to Detroit to confront his parents."

"Oh yeah, he texted me," said the Chief. He took out his IPHONE and looked at his recent messages sent by another IPHONE by using the pad that the IPHONE has.

"Hey, is that an IPHONE?" asked Cortana.

"No, it's one of those new windows phones." The Chief read the message. "I can't understand this. It looks like he tried to write out every ebonic accent on his words."

"I can translate it," said Cortana. "It says: 'Help, I've been thrown in jail for going one mile over the speed limit. The cops saw a bag of prunes in the back seat and booked me, after they beat me in the middle of the road. When I tried to get up I was shot fifteen times. I need you to come get me and pay for the operation; I broke my toe in a car door while being slammed against the hood of the police car. Please come soon. Oh and also my parents moved to Florida so I didn't get to talk to them."

"Ah, I see." The Chief began to text back. Cortana watched through his helmet cam.

"What does 'soary' mean? You're illiterate aren't you?"

"…Maybe." He pocketed the phone. "Well, time to go. Got a galaxy to save and everything!"

With that he skipped on into the bowls of the facility. Cortana stopped the clock. It had taken only a little more than a minute for the Chief to completely forget about Oreo.

Cercil Saltstein floated in darkness. It was dark. He couldn't see anything. He was tied by a giant shoelace to the middle of nowhere. He glared around at the emptiness as a cold wind drifted over him. Vaguely, he could sense that he was being carried somewhere, as the world seemed to rock with a rhythmical jostling that could only be a giant metal shoulder pad jammed into his nuts. Also it was dark.

"I'm glad I'm completely aware of the situation," he said out loud. He tested the tight shoelace bondage he was in. "Shit, this is tighter than Oreo's athletic bra. Where am I?" His head jerked to and fro. "Chief! What's going on! Did you put me here?" His voice began to shake. "Show yourself!"

No response came. Except, in the distance, he heard the squeaking of White Nikes. Cercil waited with baited breath and eventually a giant ant came into view, white Nikes adorning each of its six (?) legs. The ant panted as it ran up to him.

"Sorry," gasped out the huge insect. "I was held up with the…ice cream. Truck." It looked shiftily at Cercil.

Cercil glared at his captor with feigned bravado. "And you didn't think to get me any? I bet you were too busy packing fudge into your mouth to even think of what I might want." He grinned.

"Wow, less than twenty seconds into the conversation and you've managed to completely disgust me. Good job."

"I do my best. You're a pretty fucked up hallucination. I'm pretty sure I haven't coked out on powdered puppies yet today, so what's the deal?"

"I was getting to that before you interrupted me with your constant, unnecessarily shocking interjections intended to disguise your cowardly bitch nature." The ant began to pace around Cercil, who followed him with bleary red eyes. He was not having a good day.

"You know I could kill you right now," said the ant, standing behind him.

"Do it," said Cercil.

"What?"

"Do it. I just lost half my face and my asshole itches like you wouldn't believe." He looked at the ant with puppy-dog eyes. "End my misery, kind sir."

The ant shrugged and continued to pace. "…but as I was going to say, that just wouldn't be prudent. You see Cercil, there's someone in this story that doesn't belong."

"Is it me?"

"No. You belong in this story just as much as the Chief does. "

"Ooo, foreshadowing! What could that possibly mean?"

The ant ignored him, "But you will certainly meet them, and I don't think you'll like them when you do. "You think rape jokes are so funny, Cercil?" the ant leaned in close to look the Elite right in the eye. Its black segmented eye reflected that red light. "Have you ever been experienced…Mind Rape?"

Cercil narrowed his eyes at him. "I've experienced TvTrope's TroperTales section. Does that count?"

"Way to be esoteric to internet sub cultures." The ant drew back into the shadows. "Well, I think I've had just about enough of you. See you later Cercil—oh, and I hope you enjoy your new jaw."

Cercil blinked as the ant held up a mirror. His eyes widened.

"NOOO! MY FACE! MY BEAUTIFUL FACE!"

His face had been replaced…_by the Chief's._

_**FACE OFF II: FACE ON**_

Just kidding, they didn't really swap their faces.

_THEY SWAPPED OUR FACES._

_** FACE OFF III: FACE OFF AGAIN**_

___Okay I'm done._

_ Stay tuned for Part II, wherein the actually level is covered!_

_ Will the Chief find the Control Room before those other guys, the Covi-knat or whatever they're called? Will he find it before they do? What does the Control Room do? I forgot? Will Cortana be a bitch? Will Sergeant Johnson ever get back from Death Row, where he now is for Driving While Black? Will the Chief help him? What about that dream sharing stuff—when I explain it you'll be like OH, of course, that's what he meant. It all makes perfect sense, so keep reading to stay tuned for the next installment of _

_**Prison Break: Halo Edition**_

___Sergeant Johnson takes off his shirt to show he has a fancy tattoo with diagrams all over it. He turns to the Chief while flexing his muscles one by one. "These are the plans to get out of here. I had them tattooed on my body so I could bring them in with me. I'll need your help to get out of here._

_ The Chief looked at him._

_ "Why are you the one with the tattoos if I came here to save you?"_

_ Johnson ignored him. "Hello ladies. When your man smells like the fresh scent of old spice, you can go anywhere! Surprise, you're on a mountain top—"_

_ The Chief punched him. "But Johnson! The priiize!"_

_ "Oh yeah I forgot," said Johnosn. "The priiize."_

_ "Damn straight," said Commander Sheppard, lifting weights next to them. They looked at her._

_ "Hey, this isn't a woman's prison!"_

_ "WOMEN CAN DO ANYTHING MEN CAN DO!_

Okay, yeah, even I would never write a story this stupid.

Probably.

:


	12. HAYLO SE Chapter Five 2 of 2

Somewhere far away, the Chief entered a room. The room was in a kind of octagonal shape, with bizarre geometric arrangements that randomly blocked off one part of the corridor, forcing him to go around or through the middle to get to the next door. In the middle of the room was a pit with a bridge over it. A varied selection of Covenant patrolled the area.

The Chief peeked around a corner at them. "Hmm, Cortana doesn't it seem like we've been here before?"

Cortana agreed. "I think the Forerunners were a bit lacking in imagination."

"Forerunners?" asked the Chief as he sighted down the sight of his assault rifle.

"Yes, Forerunners, roughly translated from Sci Fi naming conventions into 'people who came before.' The Covenant believe that they created the rings to help initiate the great Journey."

The Chief opened fire, blowing a grunt's head off. The Covenant turned towards the muzzle flash. "Great Journey, huh?" he said as threw a Frag grenade. "Like a big hike? I hate hikes. This one time, I drank some water, and it gave me amoebic dysentery, and I was farting and shitting all the time and burping too." The grenade went off. An Elite's head bounced off the Chief's chest. He continued talking as he tracked down the remaining Covenant. "It was like I would take a step, and I would fart, and then I would take another step and burp. Then I would shit myself. It was terrible! I was shitting as I walked."

"Uh huh. I think you still do that Chief…except the shit is dribbling out of your mouth. All the time."

"That's odd." The Chief put ten in a Grunt's ten spot. "I always wash my mouth out after a scat session!" he joked.

"Ew. I was being metaphorical. Besides that sounds like something Cercil would say."

"God don't even bring up that asshole." The Chief casually ripped a Jackal's spine out. He lovingly cleaned it off with water and put it in his trophy box. "Seriously what a long, drawn out and pointless fight. I'd much rather have spent the time doing this."

"What, trekking through endless duplicate rooms?" asked Cortana s the Chief went through the next door, only to find himself standing on an elevator.

The Chief inconspicuously stopped polishing the severed skull of an Elite and tossed it over his shoulder. "Yep. I love trekking. Did I ever tell you about the time I got dysentery?"

"You know I can see everything you're doing," said Cortana. "Is there a reason you've started collecting the skulls of your enemies?"

"I want all the legendary badges."

"You are an idiot."

The Chief grumbled to himself and pressed the button. Annoying elevator music started as the platform began its agonizingly slow descent.

"…oh my god," said the Chief. "This is almost as good as Lady Gaga!"

The elevator continued its slug like descent.

The Chief hummed happily to himself. "You know Cortana, the banana slug has the largest penis relative to body size in nature! In fact, after coitus the banana slug and his mate often will devour the penis once it has served its purpose!"

Cortana instantly suffered a blue screen of death.

Oblivious, the Chief pressed a single finger against the wall and watched as the wall slowly rose past it, gliding against his finger. The lift inched along and a new track began to play.

"Well this is very calming," said the Chief. "I think we're almost near the end."

After about a MILLENIA the elevator hissed slowly into place at the bottom of the shaft.

"Oh thank god," said the Chief, scratching his giant white beard that had filled the entire shaft.

"Wait a minute," said Cortana. "This doesn't make any sense—how could you grow a beard _on _your helmet?"

The Chief looked down. "Oh my god. You're right…I…I SLEPT TOO LOOOONG!" He threw his hands up in the air and screamed in despair. "I SLEPT TOO LONG!"

Cortana snorted derisively. "And roll credits, I guess. _Directed by Mrs. Miller's Special Ed Class. _"

"I made a drawing."

"Whatever. You should really get off the elevator now, though—before it starts up again!"

But it was too late. The music started up again as the platform began its agonizingly slow descent back up. The Chief let out a low animal moan of anguish, like a dying horse.

Heh heh, horsie.

When the oceans had dried up, when the sky was gray and dead and all the stars had fallen to the earth, like sickly birds. When the sun flickered and died like the corroded light bulb, when the last living thing in the universe curled up and died…the elevator finally arrived back at the top of the shaft.

"Okay, let's try this again," said the Chief. He pressed the button.

By the time they reached the bottom the universe had imploded onto itself.

The Chief yanked the beard off of his face, ignoring the agonizing pain. He hopped off the lift just as it was beginning to start up again and approached the door.

"Well thank god that's over," said Cortana. "I literally cannot imagine anything worse than what we just experienced."

"I am shell shocked," agreed the Chief.

He opened the door into a big, peaceful snowy valley.

"OH MY GOD I CAN'T FEEL MY ENTIRE BODY!" screamed the brutally severed head of a Helljumper as it was blasted across the snowy ground from a plasma mortar's impact, trailing smoke from the horrible plasma burn where its neck should have been. The head smacked into a tree and was impaled on a branch. The tree itself was hung with the mangled limbs and bloated corpses of many Helljumpers, as were the other trees in the valley, all of which were alight with blue plasma fire. Blood covered the earth, and as the Chief looked down he saw patches of melted flesh that were all that remained of the victims of the plasma bombs.

He yawned. "BORING!"

The Chief's eye was caught by movement to the west. A Covenant Ghost was speeding along straight for the remaining patch of Marines and Helljumpers who had not been obliterated by the alien Wraith tanks a click or so away. Actually, how long is a click? A mile? Shit, never mind. It was like, a quarter of a mile away.

"Look out sir!" screamed a Marine, pushing his superior to the ground. The Ghost zipped by, shearing his head off instantly. A gout of blood splattered over the surviving humans as the Ghost came around for a second run.

The Sergeant the dead Marine had saved threw his hands up at the heavens. "Nooo! ROOOOOOOSTER! God damn you Jesus ya mutha fuckin' honkey white ass hatin' BITCH!"

The Chief gasped. "Oh my god! That's Sergeant Johnson—I'd recognize that black skin from a mile away, especially in this all white neighborhood." He looked around at the white snow and waggled his eyebrows at the camera, which unfortunately nobody could see.

Cortana sighed apathetically. "Normally I'd object to something so retarded, but honestly I just don't care. I'll let Oreo complain to you, Chief. That is if we see her again, considering you seem to think that she's started some sort of gangbang train with the entire world."

"Of course we'll see her again! I'll win her back from however many guys she's fucking!" With that, the Chief skipped off towards the Marines. As he went he saw that the Ghost had changed direction and was coming for him now.

"Oh…" said the Chief. He took a few steps to the right and stared down the pilot of the Ghost.

The Elite was head banging to Augury. He pressed down on the booster pedal to make the craft go faster, setting himself on a collision course with the Chief. But at the last moment the Chief jumped out of the way, and the Ghost went flying past him straight into the door he had come from. The vehicle smashed through the door and careened straight into the waiting arms of the elevator amongst a shower of sparks.

The pilot blinked blearily, staring at his predicament. An expression of horror dawned over his face and he tried desperately to undo his seatbelt.

"NO! NO! NOT THIS! ANYTHING BUT THIS!"

Slowly, sadistically, the elevator began to start again.

"NOOOOO!" the Elite finally broke free of his seatbelt and stumbled towards the edge of the platform, even as it rose into the air. He had almost reached the edge when the walls of the shaft swooped down in front of him and the elevator began its agonizing ascent.

"OH NO PLEASE SOMEBODY KILLM E!"

The Chief shuddered as he heard the tearful cries of the alien warrior. "I wouldn't wish that on anyone," he said to Cortana.

Cortana waited.

"Not even the homo—"

"MAH NIGGA IN CHIEF!" screeched Sergeant Johnson as he swaggered up, his posse around him. In the distance the wraith tanks were regrouping for another bombardment.

"My nigga," agreed the Master Chief. He and Sergenat Johnson exchanged an extremely elaborate and complex hand shake. At one point Johnson tried to palm some drugs to the Chief but the SPARTAN dropped them and they had to hide them under some snow before the Warden got suspicious.

`"Watcha guys doing?" asked a Marine.

Johnson pointedly ignored him, cutting him out of the ethnic camaraderie. "Well, Chief, it's been a while. I hope everything was gangsta straight up bad while I was gone?"

"…yes?" The Chief scratched his head. "I got into a pretty big fight with some guy that I'm sharing dreams with. Plus I've discovered that I seem to have an unlimited number of light sabers stored in my ass."

"Ah, if only Mendoza were here," said Johnson wistfully. "He could make some suggestive comment about what you just said."

"Yeah, sharing dreams is pretty gay isn't it? But I think I killed Mendoza while you were gone. Like twice."

Johnson laughed. "Hell son, who _hasn't_ killed Mendoza at least once? Hell, I killed Mendoza while I was working off my DWB in community service."

"Uh huh." The Chief waited. Johnosn cleared his throat. "Oh, fine," said the Chief. "What's a DWB, Sgt. Johnson?"

Johnson slapped him. "_DRIVING WHILE BLACK YOU IGNINT WHITE BREAD."_

The Chief wiped the place where Johnson had touched him with clean wipes. "Uh huh," he said again.

"Didn't I already tell you that?" whispered Cortana.

"I like being touched. So, what did you have to do for community service, Johnson?"

"Boy, do I have to tell you _everything _about my day?" Johnson raised his pimp hand.

"Sir!" shouted a Helljumper as he ran up. "The Wraiths are coming around for another run!"

The Chief clapped his hands to his face plate. "Oh _no_! Not the Wraith tanks." He spun around, pointing at the gigantic blob of plasma slowly making its way towards them in a very obvious and predictable arc. "How will we ever avoid such a catastrophic blast of death that a retarded cow could avoid?"

"It killed all of my friends," commented the scarred Helljumper.

Sergeant Johnson scowled at the Chief. He patted the ODST on the shoulder. "Don't worry son, the Chief didn't mean it like that."

The Chief turned an unreadable gaze on the Helljumper, who was quickly cowed.

Moo.

The plasma mortar was now half way to them. "Wait up guys," said Johnson. "I'll be right back." He jogged off.

The Chief and the Helljumper looked at each other again.

"Major Silva told me all about you," said the soldier, looking the Chief up and down with renewed bravado. "I was expecting more from you, honestly. Maybe if you'd gotten here sooner all my friends would still be alive."

"Why does everyone blame me for people dying?" asked the Chief. Just now reminded of something, he turned his foot up and checked the bottom of his boot to see if he had stepped in any Marine. He thought he had smelled something funny.

"Major McKay also said you were a 'heartless bastard piece of shit asshole," said the Helljumper.

The Chief peeled a human face off of his foot. "Huh. That bitch has issues. I never should have gotten tangled up in her." He nudged the trooper. "If you know what I mean…"

At that moment Sergeant Johnson returned in his warthog. "Yo, homies," he exclaimed as the massive bass on the stereo blared. "Let's load all up on this hog and go cap some muthas in a drive by!"

"Word." The Chief climbed into the turret seat. The Helljumper got into the shotgun seat, also known as meat shield. The SPARTAN looked up into the sky.

"Uh, Johnson—the MORTAR! It's almost here!"

"Aight, aight, hold yer horses." Johnson turned the key a few times as the Mortar inched ever closer at about the speed of a dust mote on the still evening in the attic of a stifling old farmhouse out in the California Rolling hills, listening to the sound of old man Hendrickson smoking his corn cob pipe out in the

WHAM! The plasma bomb exploded where the car had been moments before. The blast sent the hog skidding even faster along the ice towards the wraith.

"HOLD ONTO YOUR DICKS!" hollered Johnson as the hog abruptly shot up a slope and into the air. Right below them the Covenant wraith tank tried to aim up, but it was too late. The car slammed down onto the tank, driving straight up and over it. The Chief slammed down on the gun's triggers, spraying a track of molten lead into the hull of the tank as they went. One bullet must have hit—I mean, slammed down—on something important because the tank exploded, sending the car cart wheeling into the air in a motion not dissimilar to a wheel. The poor Helljumper lost his seat and flew out of the car, his body smashing on the cold ice below.

"Oh, that's so sad," said the Chief as the car landed right side up.

"I'm impressed that you're trying to feel emotions again," said Cortana. "But you know it will make it all the easier for me to toy with you, right?"

"It's still sad—I've always wanted to pilot a wraith tank." The Chief got off the gun and jogged up the shotgun seat. He hoisted himself up besides Johnson.

"Oh, that's so sad," said Johnson, jerking his chin. "I can't believe someone actually hit Rihanna!" The story on the radio ended and he casually spat his tobacco out the side of the car, straight onto the corpse of the Helljumper.

"Is that how you say it?" mused the Chief. "Rihanna? Rhanna? Rihiannha?"

"Shit, I don' know dawg. Dat bitch be tite tho."

"Indeed." The Chief patted the dash board. "It's time to roll my man. Chop chop!"

Johnson slammed on the breaks. He turned to glare at the Chief with that angry minority look, you know what I'm talking about. Ha ha ha.

I am a bastard.

"CHIEF!" growled the Sergeant. "What the _fuck_ you mean 'chop…._chop' _what are ya? Some kinda _RACIST?_"

"Yes."

Johnson looked confused. "Oh. Um…let's go then."

He slammed the gas and LET IT RIP! AWWWW YEAH! CHUGGA CHUGGA CHUGGA! DA NA NA NA NA! ROLLING ROLLING ROLLING! ROLLING ROLLING ROLLING! YEAH!

Then they drove right into the middle of a war zone.

"WUAAAGH!" screamed an Elite as his mangled body splattered against the windshield.

"Huh. I always thought the warthog would look good in purple," said Johnson.

"Then let's try red on for size." The Chief reached over and grabbed the steering wheel. He aimed the car for a group of Marines!

"No Chief! Bad Chief!" Johnson hit the Chief over the head with a rolled up newspaper and slammed his foot into the break. The car came to a stop just in front of the Marines. Behind the Marines was a large Scoprion tank, which seemed to be occupied.

"We'll need that tank to proceed further on," said Cortana.

"Can't the Marines take care of it?" asked the Chief.

Everyone laughed at him.

"Stupid question, I know." The Chief tore the Marine pilot of the tank out and tossed him aside, then slid into the driver seat. The Pilot wafted away on the wind. Johnson and his surviving Marines boarded the various treads of the tank.

"So how do you drive this thing?" asked the Chief to Cortana as he randomly fiddled with the controls.

"It's like driving a car," reassured Cortana.

"Right." The Chief cleared his throat. "So, how do you drive a car?"

At that moment a plasma mortar flew right over the tank! Growling in anger, the Chief managed to steer the great brown behemoth around to face Covenant Wraith that had emerged from the large snowy tunnel in the mountain side. He peered closer and saw that there was a gold Elite standing on top of the wraith, holding a fuel rod Cannon.

"Commander Darren," hissed the Chief. "So we meet again."

"You're not on the open speakers," said Cortana.

The Chief pressed a button. "So," he repeated. "Commander Darren. We meet again."

"You're still not on the open speakers," said Cortana.

"So, Master Chief," bellowed Darren into a megaphone as he signaled Eric the Jackal (who was piloting the Wraith) to target the tank. "We meet again. But this time, I have the advantage."

The Chief leveled the massive twenty foot long penis compensating barrel of his tank straight at the gold Elite.

"This gun is more than the entire length of your tank," said the Master Chief matter-of-factly, now on open speakers.

"Yes," said Commander Darren. "You are a worthy opponent indeed. Commander Keyes has trained you well as a power-weapon whore." He snapped his fingers. "But you fail to grasp the nature of the situation, my fine, attractive, well muscled friend."

From the shadows of the tunnel mouth two more Wraith tanks emerged, along with a gaggle of Ghosts piloted by Elites.

"But what you fail to realize," countered the Chief, "is that my ship is dragging mines!"

There was a pause.

"What?"

"What the fuck are you talking about ya fuckin' honkey?" hissed Sgt. Johnson.

Darren shrugged. "Well, okay, that was completely irrelevant." He stood on his tip toes and peered over the human tank. "And untrue. I don't even think there's any mine technology on this entire planetoid—Halo thing. So yeah. I'm going to kill you now. It's too bad we had to be enemies." He sighed. "We could have been lovers."

"You are gay," said the Chief. It wasn't a question.

"I meant it in the Shakespearian sense of the word," said Darren quickly.

Johnson's head turned like an owl. A very racially indignant owl. "What th' fuck ya mean_ SPEAR_? NOT ALL BLACK PEOPLE COME FROM TRIBAL AFRICA YOU RACIST FUCK."

Darren cowered before the mighty rage of the oppressed negro. "Aah! EVERYONE ATTACK NOW BEFORE THE REVEREND JACKSON SHOWS UP!"

All three tanks opened fire on the human tank, surrounding it with a veritable gangbang of plasmatic explosions that vaporized all the snow in a two hundred foot radius. A great blast of plasma discharge erupted into the air, leaving behind it a cloud of choking smoke.

"Oh shit!" said the Chief from within the completely unharmed Scorpion. "My shields are down!"

Sgt. Johnson looked at his hands, which had been burned black.

OH WAIT.

. "Well hallelujah! I can't believe I survived." He looked at the Marines. "Can you boys believe—"

They had all been vaporized.

"God damn it all," he growled.

"What are you talking about?" asked the Chief, glaring at him through the flimsy grate of the Scorpion's cock pit.

Johnson jerked his head at the dark spot where a Marine's shadow had been burned into the tank.

The Chief looked. "…the paint job? This thing isn't even painted."

Cortana laughed.

"Fuck you, honkey. They were my bruthas." Johnson tore off his Crips bandanna and threw it angrily to the scorched earth in a show of defiance. The shaky camera focused on it for a strangely long amount of time, possibly hinting at some deeper meaning behind the action. Then a man with an erect penis walked past the shot and raped a woman on screen. That's quality HBO programming for you!

"Wow, I had no idea _The Wire_ was up for another season." The Chief turned his attention back to the wraith tanks and the Ghosts, all of whom had retreated upon seeing that he was invincible. That is, except for Darren and Eric's wraith.

"Hold the line you pack of slack jawed faggots!" roared Darren in utter fury at the retreating backs of the wraiths.

"Projecting much?" commented Cortana.

The Chief snorted in a manly fashion. "Looks like you're a few apples short of a pie, Darren. Seems like your chickens have flown the coop. Cut the head off and the snake's body dies. When you rule by fear, your followers will abandon you the moment they fear the enemy more than you."

Cortana spoke up in a reassuring tone. "Not bad Chief. Next time though, try to just use _one_."

"Sorry, I got nervous and tried to over compensate."

"That's okay," said Darren. "You'll get better."

"Yeah," said Eric the Jackal. "You just gotta work at it, bro. It's come to you naturally in time."

"Thanks so much, guys," said the Chief.

Then he blew them all to hell. A burning, blue-flamed fragment of twisted purple alloy was flung through the air, Darren and Eric holding on for dear life. The chunk of debris shot into the sky and disappeared from sight.

"Looks like Team Butt Rocket is blasting off agaaain!" exclaimed Cortana. Everyone laughed.

"Ass to meowth, that's right!" intoned the Chief.

Pokemon is so fucking awesome. Here, let me show you my lumpy yellow Pikachu.

The tank trundled on into the big gaping hole on the mountainside. Johnson looked around at the darkness around with large round eyes. There were no aliens around, but the cave soon turned into a metal, rectangular tunnel.

"This cave is not a natural formation," began Cortana.

"Shut up," said the Chief.

They continued on into the strange underground tunnel, until eventually they came across a humongous door. Next do the door was a control panel.

The Chief got out. "Buttons! I must press them." He skipped over to the panel as Johnson watched with a nauseated expression. The Chief head butted the panel, pressing all the buttons at once with his face. The huge door began to rumble as the Chief scrambled to get back to the tank.

What greeted them then was a huge, rather suspiciously arbitrary cavernous room. A wide bridge just big enough for the tank connected the two sides of a massive chasm. Strange geometrical shapes were scattered on all sides of the room, most of them rectangular.

"I have no idea what any of this could possibly do," said Cortana.

"Shh. Don't question alien technology." The Master Chief piloted the tank into the room. Only then did they realize that the entire place was stuffed with Covenant troops. The door closed behind them.

The Chief took stock of the hundred of alien weapons being pointed at him. "Well. That was the last goddamn thing I ever fucking expected."

"Sh_eee_t," said Johnson.

Then a great and an intense action sequence began. Now this action sequence was so intense, so incredibly engaging, that

Have you noticed that I use the phrase 'eee' a lot when I'm trying to do phonetics? I just noticed this when was doing a find/replace search to remove all the accidental Freudian slips of my real name, Mendoza, and replacing them with the name Mendoza. Also it seems like I tend to leave out random words when I'm writing, ending up sentences like "I can't someShbody hit Rihanna!"

Anyways, after defeating the entire Covenant and saving all babies, the Chief crossed the bridge and found another door with more buttons. He got out of the tank again, nodding to Johnson on the way, and went to press the button.

"Say Cortana," he said, as he pressed buttons. "Why do we call a tank a Scorpion Tank when it is neither Score nor a Peon?"

"That's amazing, Chief," said Cortana. "It's like you're so stupid that you go all the way around the stupid meter and become smart, but then go half way around the stupid meter again so you're like, stupid squared, one eighth smart."

"Yeah, well. It isn't as easy as it looks." The Chief hoisted himself back into the tank and drove through…the open door. Which was open because he had pressed buttons.

He proceeded up the tunnel and into what looked like the bottom of a large ice canyon. Large banshees swarmed over head as the Chief trundled along in his tank, blowing away various aliens as he did so.

"Wow, this is so incredibly easy," he said. "I wonder why we're losing the war if we have tanks like this!"

Cortana harrumphed. "The average Scorpion tank costs about ten billion dollars. To fuel. For five seconds. We just can't afford to make enough."

"Ha, that's ironic," said the Chief. "Humanity is going to be utterly genocided because of one of our own inventions."

"If we didn't have money all our infrastructure would collapse," pointed out Cortana tiredly. "Then we wouldn't be able to make _any_ Scorpion tanks."

"I know," said the Chief. "That's what I meant when I said we were all going to die because of one of our own inventions."

He rounded a corner, flatting two hunters. He aimed the barrel of the tank into the sky and fired, blowing a chunk out of the sun itself and incidentally killing all the banshees. "I mean look at the Covenant. Their entire empire is based on religion, one of the oldest constructs of the sentient mind. Could it perhaps be that they are more advanced than us _precisely _because they are not limited by industry, but instead march forwards with unified intent?"

"I liked you better when you were retarded." Cortana thought back to the times she had 'worked' with the Chief when he wasn't retarded, and she shuddered.

"Yes, I think I am regaining my intelligence. My brain must be recharging, just as my shields recharge."

Then he drove the tank over a cliff and into a warthog full of Marines.

The explosion rocketed high into the air as the infinite supply of shells in the tank all detonated at once. The Master Chief was flung like a rag doll on a stunt wire straight into a heavy snow bank, burying him ten feet deep in fluffy whiteness. Debris—human and machine—rained down in a shower of various fluids as the Chief fought his way free of the deadly snow and shook himself off. There was a massive dent in his helmet.

"You all right Chief?" asked Cortana with the same tone of voice one might use to address toe-nail clippings.

"I'm fine." The Chief reached into a pouch in his armor and produced a pair of sunglasses.

"I guess you could say…"

He put the sunglasses on over his faceplate.

"I went a little over the edge."

"YEAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" screamed a random Marine. The Chief jumped a foot in the air and screamed like a bitch.

_And up ahead of all this…_

Julius the grunt walked timidly out into the snow, clutching a fully charged plasma pistol in one stubby paw. He sniffed the biting air and sighed, sucking in a nice big lung full of methane. He smacked his lips and looked around again.

"Hey Jules, I see you're keeping it cool," said a blue armored rookie elite as he loped up. "What are you doing out here?"

"Uh…Oh nothing Pompey," said the Grunt in his characteristically squeaky voice. "Just patrolling."

"Cool. Wanna know why I'm here?" asked the Pompey the elite.

The grunt looked around one more time and sighed. He had been waiting for his online date to pick him up, but it didn't look like they was going to show up. "Fine."

"Cool. Well believe it or not I'm going to meet this hot bitch I met online." Pompey preened his fresh blue armor.

Julius paled. "Uh…really?"

"Yep, it's pretty cool. Her name's Piercedclit69. She said she would meet me here."

"Uh…" Julius avoided Pompey's enthusiastic gaze. "T-t-that's nice. What's she like?"

"Oh man, she's so cool! You'll love her! We've like, got all the same interests; plasma pistols, plasma rifles, plasma grenades, plasma TV, blood plasma…plus she sent me a picture of her junk, and let me tell you, that name ain't just for show." He laughed heartily.

"Uh huh." Julius frowned. "That's weird. You're not going to believe this…but that's why I'm here, too. I have a date of my own."

"No way! That's so cool! We can do a double date," exclaimed Pompey. "Can we drive your ghost? Let me pretend it's my ghost, okay? I really think I can score this time." He rubbed is hands together happily. "So, what's she like."

"Oh, uh, well, she's just like me I guess." Julius thought about it. "She's got all the same interests as me…plasma grenades, plasma pistols, plasma rifles, blood plasma, plasma gun, plasma plasma."

Pompey looked perturbed. "Cool. Cool. What, uh…what's her name?"

"Her name? Uh…" Julius thought about it. "Well… her name is Clitpiercing96."

Pompey and Julius looked at each other.

"Are we" Pompey swallowed "talking about the same girl?"

"The same girl," echoed Julius in horror. "And…and my potential wife!"

"Talking about the same girl," echoed Pompey, dismayed.

At that moment a Spec Ops armored Elite walked up to them. "Hey guys," said the elite. "Oh cool, hi Pompey." The elite looked at the grunt. "And, uh, Julius—right? Watcha guys doing?"

"We're waiting for the same girl!" said Pompey hollowly. He looked up. "Oh, hi Fisto."

"Call me Kit, please." Kit Fisto looked at the two Covenant. "So, who're you guys waiting for?"

"The same girl," echoed Julius.

Fisto raised an eyebrow. "Right. But what's her name?"

"69Clitpiercedclitpiercing96," said Pompey.

"Oh my god! That's who _I'm _here to see," said Kit Fisto.

"Really?" asked Pompey.

"Actually no," laughed Kit Fisto. "In fat I don't know what the fuck you guys are talking about. Seeya." With that the Spec Ops elite walked away.

"God, what a bitch," said Julius.

"Yeah she's a bitch," agreed Pompey.

At that moment a Covenant car pulled up, and out got two hot bitches who looked exactly alike.

"Oh wow," said Pompey. "It wasn't the same girl after all!"

"They're twins," agreed Julius as the hot bitches sauntered up and draped themselves over their respective dates.

The elite nodded, grabbing some alien ass. "Somehow," he said "I have a feeling everything's going to be all right."

…do I really need to explain what happened at that very moment?

Okay, fine. The Chief snuck past in active camouflage and made his way to the Control Room, not hurting or killing everyone in any way at all. After that he made his way to the Control Room with little or no resistance whatsoever. He commandeered a banshee and drove it through the air, avoiding all Covenant fire, until he smashed gracefully into the large hanger door to the Control Room. The banshee crumpled to the ground in a twisted heap, trailing flame and smoke. The Chief crawled out, coughed, and looked around at the dead bodies of those Covenant he had just plowed through to his 'landing.'

"Huh," he said. "Looks like they got here already." He looked down at his hands. "Hmmm. I'm still alive. That means the Covenant hasn't used Halo to wipe out the entire human race. So this must mean that they couldn't use the Controls, mustn't it?"

"Let me do the thinking," said Cortana. "You do the mindless killing and soul crushing warfare."

"Sounds like a fair deal to me!" With that the Chief literally walked through the door as if it were made of rice paper. He entered the Control Room.

The SPARTAN warrior found himself standing on a wide glass bridge overlooking a cavernous spherical chamber. In the center was a massive hologram of Halo, as well as a smaller one with an accompanying representation of the gas giant it orbited.

"Looks like a giant hemorrhoid," said the Chief.

He looked up at the huge circular, femininely curved, labia like, vulvaish, vagina -like opening of the halo hologram that dwarfed him in size.

"Hey Cortana, what does it mean if I have a giant erection right now?"

"Quiet. Put me in that pedestal over there."

The Chief did as she asked, removing Cortana's chip implant from his ear and putting it into the ancient alien port that somehow was able to connect to her. There was a pause.

Then Cortana's hologram exploded into existence, twenty times as big as it had been before. She had removed her leather dominatrix outfit for the time being, and because of that the Chief could see that she had turned a dark shade of green and not her usual purple.

"Ew. Cortana, looks like you caught something from the Control Center."

She ignored him. "Wow! This is awesome! The knowledge, so much, so fast—it's glorious!"

"Ha. Yeah." The Chief scratched his crotch piece. "I don't care. Just don't be going all HAL on me."

"Do you have any idea how much informat1ion is stored in here?" asked Cortana. "Centuries of research, scientific data…analysis….the maths! They consume me!" She appeared to be in a state of nerd orgasm.

"Let's stay focused," said the Chief. "How do you control women?"

"What?"

"Let's stay focused," he repeated. "How do we use Halo against the Covenant?"

Cortana sneered. "This ring isn't a cudgel, you barbarian. It's something else. Something much more important."

"Ha. Yeah. I don't care." The Chief made triggering pulling motions with his fingers. "Blam blam, Cortana. How does I shot alien genocide?"

Cortana looked suddenly worried. "You don't understand. The weapons cache Keyes is going to—it isn't—oh no. No that can't be."

"What was that about Keyes?"

Cortana waved her hand. "Oh, he's just walked into a space zombie death trap. That's not what's important."

"Okay—wait…what."

Cortana continued to ignore him. "Chief, listen: I just found some strange _artifacts _in the Forerunner's database. They seem to be some kind of religious description, like of an idol or a goddess…but the entry dates are only from twelve hours ago."

"Huh?" the SPARTAN scratched his head. Women and their big words. What are _hours _anyways?

"Does this sound familiar to you?" yammered Cortana. She began quoting something. "_It was a girl with well tanned skin and dark raven black hair. Her hair was tied up in a cute pony tail and her hair was messy, and well kept. It was shiny, but also looked like light disappeared into it. It was fairly normal hair, yet it had a mystical appearance, as if she were part RAVEN._"

"Sounds like one hot chick," said the Chief in a strange voice.

Cortana didn't notice. "It's almost like someone went into the archives and edited it with just…pages…and _pages_ of description. Of herself."

"Uh huh." The Chief thumbed over his shoulder. "Maybe I should go rescue Keyes. You know, from the zombies or whatever you said."

"Yes, I don't have time to explain what Halo was really made for," agreed Cortana. "You're better off going in blind."

There was a long pause in which the Chief could easily have reinserted Cortana's chip into his head.  
The AI cleared her throat. "Plus, ever since you plugged me into this database I've been having the computer equivalent of a constant orgasm. So you should probably go on without me. You know, so I have time to copy all the information." She stared at him.

"Right." The Chief avoided her gaze and began to back away very slowly. "Well. I'm going now."

"I'll call in Tad to pick you up and take you to Keyes," said Cortana. Suddenly, a black riding crop appeared in her hand. "Or, Chief, you could stay, and play my favorite game. The one that I play for fun. Do you what game I'm talking about?" She cracked the crop

"Yeah, well. Bye." The Chief turned and ran.

"Chief wait!" she shouted after the SPARTAN as he barreled out the door. "YOUR PAIN IS MY PLEAAASURE!"

The Chief slammed the door behind him and slumped against it. In the distance he could see Tad's pelican slowly making its way towards him, literally bouncing up and down in the air from the bass of the Rap music.

"Whew. That was a close one, I really didn't want to go through that shit." He wiped a gauntleted hand across his visor. "I'm all worn out from having sex with the tank."


	13. Bonus Chapter Two

_ As compensation for the long ass-wait between the last two chapters, another bonus chapter with your favorite politically-correct purity sue stereotype!_

**Bonus Chapter II**

**The Butte, Part One and One Fourth**

**Or**

**Oreo's Very Own Very Inoffensive Episode**

Lieutenant Oreo 'Or-hei-ho' Crème was having a bad day.

Her makeshift bunk had been harder than Mendoza's ass, the communal shower as cold as the devil's tit, and the cafeteria lunch made up of mystery meat and what she suspected was skim milk for gravy. To make matters worse she had tried calling the 'Breast Reduction Special Department' that was included in her medical plan; apparently all female space marines got free access. Unfortunately the service was only available back on Earth and Halo didn't have coverage. Embittered, she had squeezed herself into two small athletic bras, only to have them rip down the back when she put her armor on. The spiffy armor and promotion to Helljumper were the only good thing about the transfer away from the Chief's infamous 'Retirement Detail,' as her new comrades liked to call it. Cupping her pale chin in one hand, Oreo thought back to her promotion.

Her feet sank into the lush red fur carpet of a dim, incense lit room. She began a steady walk down the hall towards the end where a glittering throne made of silver stood proud from a pile of silks and pillows. She moved past the ebony jackal headed statues situated every five feet on the walls, all of which seemed to glare down at her. Each of their eyes was inset with the Hope Diamond.

Finally she stood before the throne. Major Silva lounged there in his rumpled gray uniform, one leg flung carelessly over the arm of the chair. A slave girl massaged his bare silver haired foot while two more sighed languidly and tittered to each other. At the Major's right hand, Corporal McKay stood in a set of silver Hell Jumper armor, a shotgun grounded muzzle down between her toes as she rested her gauntleted hands on its butt. Her emerald green eyes seemed to cut straight through Oreo's black ones

Silva yawned and stretched. The portrait of him wrestling Jesus that was attached to the wall behind the throne seemed to watch her.

"Sir! Lieutenant Or-hei-ho Crème reporting for duty, Sir!"

"Ah…_Lieutenant Oreo_" said Silva, his lips gliding over every syllable with aristocratic precision. His silver eyes watched her with an indecipherable intensity. "And how are you today?"

"Just fine, sir," said Oreo. "Though I'm a bit confused as to why I was transferred from the Chief's division."

"The Chief," scoffed Silva. "Do you know nobody has ever seen that man's face. He could be an alien for all we know."

Oreo raised her dark caterpillar thick eyebrows. "Um...okay."

"Forget him," said Silva. "His path leads nowhere—he's a dead end. But with me, with my division-with the Helljumpers…you will go places, indeed.

He extended a silver hand. A silver ring was on that silver hand, and in the silver ring was a silver diamond.

"Accept the gift that I offer," he said.

Oreo rubbed her temples. "Uh, okay, sir…you're my superior officer, so if you're offering to promote me I don't think I really have a choice."

"So you do accept!" Silva clapped his hands. "Excellent! Now kiss it."

Oreo rolled her eyes, then leaned forwards and kissed the ring.

"E-e-excellent," said Silva, steepling his fingers. He turned to the fermale Helljumper Corporal. "You see that, McKay? Oreo will be the first woman—I mean, the second woman to join our ranks. Mendoza wants to be called a woman, right?"

McKay shook her head expressionlessly.

"Oh, okay. The first woman, then," said Silva. Oreo glanced confusedly at McKay but received only a dower glare in return.

"I'm done with you," said Silva. "Go on."

Oreo hesitantly turned and began the long walk back out of the throne room. The flash back ended and she found herself staring up at the bright, sunny sky while standing there on the landing pad. Marines bustled nearby, some patrolling and some performing mitosis by themselves. She checked her watch. It was half past eight.

"Drifting off there, girl friend?" asked a familiar voice.

She looked up distractedly. "Mendoza? Didn't I see your head get smashed into your abdominal cavity by a massive boulder?"

"Girl, you should just pop a crazy pill and find yourself a fine Doctor House, because you crazy!"

"Yep." Oreo walked on without him, continuing her patrol route. "I'm definitely the craziest person here."

Mendoza faffed after her. "So, girlfriend, how's…_you know."_

"What do I know?" Oreo turned at a ninety degree angle and continued around the square landing pad. A pack of Techies huddled in a corner and watched her, whispering to each other in their strange language. She threw a pebble at them and they dispersed, squawking and shitting themselves.

"You know. The Chief. And you. You and the Chief. "

"Ah. Well you know, we're at war here. Nowadays isn't really the time to worry about that kind of thing."

Oreo rubbed at her temples.

"Plus he's retarded."

Mendoza just snorted.

Oreo continued, "And also there's the fact that I only just met him yesterday and I don't even know his last name. Or what he looks like."

"Well you know what they say," said Mendoza. "Danger is love's booster shot!"

"Uh huh. I guess that's true; we did have at least three romantic moments so that must count for something." Oreo sighed. "I don't know…there's just something about his innocent bigotry and his pure, thoughtless stupidity…it's hard for me to look away sometimes, even when he's accidentally stepping on the throat of a dying man while throwing children like javelins to impale his allies with friendly fire…"

Mendoza nodded understandingly. "He must have a giant cock, right?"

"…or when he's talking about how small his own penis is." Oreo checked her watch. Two more hours before her shift. She sighed woefully.

"Well I'm sure things will work out fine in the end," said Mendoza. "You know between you and me, I've always preferred a good fist-"

Oreo's radio rang. She groaned. "Oh, it's probably that asshole—what's his name? Cecil? He's been leaving me angry sexual voice mails about cows and something called a 'Holstein whore.'

Mendoza nodded understandingly as Oreo answered her radio.

"Hey bebbe," came a super manly voice on the line.

Oreo blinked. "Who is this?"

"Who do you _think?_ Expecting someone _else! MAYBE CERCIL?"_

It was the Chief. Oreo covered the radio's ear piece and glanced at Mendoza with wide eyes. "What the fuck?" she hissed at him. Mendoza shrugged.

She turned back to the receiver. "Uh, no, Chief. It's just that I didn't know you had my number."

"_Sure. SURE. _So…..."

"So what? Why did you call me?"

"Jus' wanted to see who-what you were doing

"Okay. I'm at the butte, with Mendoza. We're guarding the landing pads."

The Chief's voice exploded in rage. "Whose this _MENDOZA _asshole! I'M GOING TO KICK HIS ASS."

"…why?" Oreo made an o face. "Because he's gay?"

"GAY—BULLSHIT! DON'T YOU FUCKING LIE TO ME, BABE."

She felt a horrible headache coming on. "Chief…"

He was hyper ventilating. "WHAT."

"Go to hell." Oreo hung the radio up and turned back to Mendoza. "That was weird," she said.

"Sounds like things are going pretty well between you two," said Mendoza encouragingly.

"Yeah, well, I don't think he thinks I'm a cookie any more so at least that's something."

Oreo stopped. Corporal McKay had stepped in front of her, her Silver Armor glinting in Halo's noon day sun. She had a mean look about her today.

"Sir." Oreo saluted.

"Aren't you a Lieutenant?" whispered Mendoza. "Don't you out rank her?"

"I actually have no idea," said Oreo.

McKay cleared her throat. "So…Lieutenant. You seem to have acclimatized to the Butte rather well."

"She learned from the best," said Mendoza, placing a hand on his own chest. And the other on his own butt.

"What? I…_oh._" Oreo slowly reached up and pinched the bridge of her nose as a massive surge of headache pain surged into her head.

"Hmph." McKay looked her up and down. "Let's just make one thing clear, little girl: I'm top bitch of this dog heap, do you understand?"

Oreo stared at her with utter disbelief. "Really?"

"Let me make this clear." McKay advanced on her, planting a finger in the center of Oreo's breast plate. Now, if you were to view this scene from the side you wouldn't have been able to see McKay's whole forearm. Do you know why?

Because Oreo has large breasts.

"These motherfuckers answer to me," spat McKay. "And if you put one pretty little foot into my territory, I will _break _you. You got that, sweet cheeks?"

"Yes sir," said Oreo blandly. McKay just snorted and stalked away.

"Well that was…" Oreo cleared her throat, wincing as pain stabbed into her temples. "…pretty…"

Mendoza watched her expectantly.

Oreo reached into her pocket and took out a bottle of medicine. She popped two pills and put the half empty bottle back in her pocket.

"—okay! I'm sure she's just misunderstanding my intent." Oreo plastered a half-hearted smile on her face and continued her route.

Mendoza looked after her thoughtfully. "Hmm…that's odd. I'm _sure_ I remember that McKay lady from my gay social club meetings!"


	14. Chapter 6 1 of 1

_A/N: I'm back! FYI, this chapter will be shorter but thicker than the others; other chapters were really long because a lot of different things happened in them, but in these middle three levels (Assault, 343, The Library) there's not nearly as much room for creativity because they're the worst three levels in the entire game. I will throw in a bonus chapter at some point to make up for this. I also have a plot twist coming up that will deal with the excessive back tracking coming up. _

Chapter Six343 Guilty Spark

Or

_**Everybody Dies**_

"_I'd like to 343 her Guilty Spark if you know what I mean."-Shakespeare_

The Pelican fought its way through the musty, stinky swamp. It collided with several trees and bounced off the giant earth tree from Avatar, killing a hundred Navi in the process.

"TAKE THAT YOU FURRY WHORES!" screamed the Chief out the bay door at the screaming and crying Navi. God damn it I hate the Navi. The only thing I hate more than the Navi is the environment—seriously, fuck air. If you liked that movie you are a furry.

Finally the Pelican hovered above a particularly putrid pool of filth ridden 'water' and dumped him straight into the middle of it.

"Good luck!" said Tad the Pelican pilot as the Master Chief splattered dead center into the huge lake of shit.

"AH!" he sloshed around in the shit pond. "GOD DAMN IT THIS IS ONE CLUSTER FUCK OF A SHITTY CESS PIT!" Slowly the Chief began to sink into the brown murk as he thrashed towards shore, only barely making it out. "WHY IS THIS EVEN HERE!"

He hauled himself up onto the bank with a dramatic gasp, armor covered in swamp goo. The smell was…_really bad._

An entire squad of Covenant burst suddenly into the clearing as the Chief stumbled forwards.

"It's the demon!" screamed a rookie Elite in a high pitched voice. They all aimed their plasma rifles at him.

"Wait…" began a Jackal as its plasma pistol began to glow a bright green. "What's…that…SMELL!"

"What are you—" the Elite sniffed the air. "OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!"

The Chief fumbled for his pistol. "Hold your horses guys, I'll be with you in a second."

"It's coming from the demon. WHAT IS THAT SHIT ALL OVER HIM. OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!" the Elite threw up all over the grunts in front of him. "BLLLLAAAAARGGHGHHHHHHHHH!"

The smell of his vomit incited the grunts to vomit as well, spraying bright blue chunks of crystallized methane from their noses and mouths that smelled like putrid rotten eggs. The neon blue vomit splattered all over the ground and on the Jackals in front of them. "BLLERGEGLBLERHGBHHBHH BAR F BARF BARF HURRRRL."

And then all those Jackals also vomited, projectile spewing great gouts of green spinach like liquid that smelled of vinegar and stale bagels. "BALLGHGHGGHGGH HARRRFF HAGH HACK HACK BLARRGHHHGGHGHG FLLPPPHHRRRAAAGGHGH!"

"OH MY GOD!" gasped out the Elite through mouthfuls and mouthfuls of vomit. He shakily pointed to the Chief. "The smell… its' like the rotting shit of babies slow churned in a cow dick grinding slaughter house!"

"No!" screamed the grunts. "It's like a carton of rotten eggs stuffed with old custard and dick cheese and whipped into a meat pie blended with dried spit and fried boogers!"

The Jackals's began puking and shitting at the same time. "NO. NO. It's like the combined shit of ten thousand oriental farmers fertilizing an entire field of skunk cabbage FLOODED WITH MENSTRATION JUICES!"

The aliens began throwing up their guts until they were all dead.

The Chief finally yanked the pistol out of its holster and pointed it at the dead bodies. "Alright bitches! I'm ready to ruuuummmmmble—oh." He saw the river of vomit before him. "Again? Seriously."

He waited for Cortana to say something to him. Nothing happened.

"'Tana?"

The Chief looked around the big, looming swamp. Tangled trees like spider legs, roots like writhing serpents. A shadow of cobwebs was draped over the world. "…Cortana?" He gulped and continued to talk to himself. "Oh. That's right. I left you in Halo's Control Room…for some reason. Let's just get going, then. I mean, I'll just get going." He stepped over the bodies and continued on into the darkened swamp. As he passed by the bodies began to melt from the smell. It was raining, and as he moved on the rain started to wash most of the swamp mud away from his armor. A couple swamp species still went extinct, though. Further in, he came across a pelican (lol). It was downed, and there was a message playing over and over again, static marring it.

_"Shhhhh-unknown contacts-shhhhh-possible-shhhhhh-captain keyes—sshhhhhh-wubba wubba wubba—shhhh—hubba hubba wubba—mub fub dub cub bub rub lub gub snub mud."_

"Hmmm," said the Chief to NOBODY. He picked up the shotgun that had fallen out of the crashed Pelican.

"You are the new Cortana," he said to the gun. "Now bitch at me."

The shotgun said nothing.

"Your pain is my pleasure," the Chief said out of the corner of his mouth in a bad falsetto.

"Shut up Cortana," he replied to himself and laughed. Then he giggled nervously and glanced around at the almost pitch blackness around him. A strange howl came out of the night and was gone. It was like the cry of dying infant. The sound of something breathing came from just out of the range of the meager light cast by his flashlight.

The Chief shat himself.

Then he went on into the mists, watching his motion tracker. The various random blobs of yellow light in the tracker seemed to make shapes, shapes that could mean anything. He saw eyes, a jagged smile, and a grasping hand. He also saw a cock, some balls, and a pair of apple bottom jeans with the boots with the fur. Suddenly, a shadowy figure ran across a cliff in the distance. John looked, zooming with his pistol. Nothing.

"Could have sworn I saw Obama…" he muttered to the shotgun.

He trekked on, finally finding a forerunner structure. It was easy to find it mostly because of all the deafening gun fire; mysterious bullets were shooting out of the entrance at the Covenant. Said Covenant were too busy looking at porn and playing cards to notice him or the magic bullets.

So the Chief pumped his shotgun in a somewhat sexual manner and prepared for battle. As he entered the clearing by the entrance the squad of Covenant looked up at him. Two grunt manned turrets swiveled to aim at him.

"Oh thank god," said the Chief. "It's time for a tension releasing, super exciting action sequence!" And it was indeed an awesome action sequence, so awesome that-

Elsewhere, Cercil Salstein awoke to a dingy storage room lit by an incandescent camping-style lantern. The rumbling in the earth that had awoken him gradually subsided, leaving only a nearby soup can to clatter forlornly from its shelf and to the floor. Cercil sat up blearily, rubbing his forehead with numb fingers—the residual effect of some sort of anesthetic. He looked down at his body.

Where once he had had alien flesh covered by an Elite's blue jumpsuit, now there was a mass of bloody ragged tears, deep burns that had fused the suit to his flesh, and pockmarked impacted craters where the various deaths he had suffered had taken their permanent toll. His actual body had gone cold and clammy, somewhere between alive and dead. Dirty bandages covered the wounds, and various impromptu surgical braces that appeared to be made out of bicycle parts had been grafted onto his limbs, apparently with the intent of keeping him from falling apart.

Every nerve in his body on fire with agony, Cercil remembered all the times the Chief had defeated him. He growled. It sounded not dissimilar from a chainsaw. His eyes found the forlorn soup can and he snatched it up, glaring down at it with furious rage.

"…Covenant…_O's!_" he snarled in utter frustration. Slowly, he crushed the can in his large alien claws, enormous gallops of tomato paste mixed with miniature pasta swords and pasta grenades bulging out of the cracks in the tin.

"Ah, I see you're awake," said a very even and pleasant voice, one that might be at home with a church pastor.

Cercil looked up to see a larger than average hunter walk into the room. The light gleamed off his blue armor. "You…" hissed the purple elite, a particularly fecal glob of canned soup splattering to the floor for emphasis. "You saved me from the Chief."

"That's right. The name's Oz."

Cercil stood up while licking the soup from his fingers. It was delicious. "Why did you help me? I hope you're not expecting some sort of anal compensation, because I don't just go giving out anuses like that."

Oz blinked his small barely visible eyes. "…No. I've been told that I needed to find you. Someone named Alistair Conley sold my soul to the devil, and now that I'm a zombie I have to help you."

"I think the devil is a pretty cool guy," agreed Cercil. "Eh steals souls and doesn't afraid of anything. It's interesting that this 'Conley' faggot would hand your decomposing ass over to me. He a giant talking ant by any chance?

Oz nodded. "Funny you should say that, because I'm pretty sure that's exactly what he was. And he wore perfume, I think."

"Now that's just crazy. Whoever heard of a male wearing perfume that he didn't call cologne." Cecil looked Oz up and down. "You know, you don't really look like a zombie to me; trust me, I've had experience with seeing dead things." He inhaled slowly and his red eyes closed. "Up close." His eyes opened. "And personal…"

Oz crossed his arms. "Don't even try to molest me you fucking creeper. I'll follow your orders but if you so much as pinch me I will crush you're entire body.

It was true: Oz was about three times as big as Cercil, all told.

"I'll make sure to remember that." Cercil worked his new jaw. "Now give me a mirror, I need to survey the damage that you and that bicycle repairman you mentioned did."

"Don't you mean_ 'saved your life,'"_ snapped Oz, grabbing a mirror of the shelf and handing it to him.

"Yeah, except the Covenant doctors always did a fine job of patching me up. Even after the lava. Why couldn't you take me to them?" Cercil looked in the mirror and examined the repairs.

"Technically the Covenant tried to lynch me for being a mutant. So I don't work for them anymore."

Cercil glanced at his reflection and then put down the mirror. "That won't be a problem, Ozborne. You see, I have my own interests regarding Halo, and especially regarding the Chief. You and I won't be working for the Covenant anyways."

"Oh. Well that's good then."

The purple-armored alien grinned. "Oh yes. What _will_ be a problem, however, is that you saw fit to _replace my mouth with a shark's mouth and jam a giant black butt plug into the hole in the side of my head_."

And back to the Chief.

After one of the most intense action sequences ever, the Chief put down the vorpal blade, shucked off his mithral cloak, and bid farewell to Mecha Bruce Lee. The bodies of a hundred Norrisbots lay scattered about the battlefield, and the smoldering remains of the four horsemen of the apocalypse were piled in one corner. The Chief turned and walked into the building the Covenant had been guarding. As he came (lulz) into the facility he came (lulz x 2) across a very large elevator. Interestingly enough there was nobody there.

"I really hope this thing doesn't break down and force me to find another way out of a huge underground facility through hordes of enemies," said the Chief. "Just as a passing thought. You know?"

He pressed a button and stepped onto the elevator. It zoomed down the shaft (lulz x 3), until it finally came (lulz x 4) to rest in a room that looked very similar to the entrance. The Chief hopped off the elevator and came (lulz x 5 20% DAMAGE BOOST) to the door into the inner sanctum.

Then he stepped into a pile of blood.

"Ew!" The Chief kicked the liquefied remains off his boot. They splattered all over the enclosed colon like passageway. Strangely enough the blood was Covenant blood. "Hmm. Covenant bodies," he mused to himself. "That's strange—I've never seen a Marine actually able to kill _anything._ "

He proceeded on into the facility, past strange sights of previous carnage. Strangely enough at some of the battle sites there were no bodies, only blood and plasma scorch marks. The Chief went to whisper into his shotgun's 'ear.' "I really hope that this doesn't mean Cercil is alive and is starting some sort of necrophilia harem."

"Shut up, Chief," he mouthed out of the corner of his mouth.  
At one point he stepped into a huge pool of viscous white liquid.

"Hm." The Chief lifted his boot, staring down at the huge strands of white goo connecting from the bottom of his boot to the strange puddle. "This must be the blood of some new Covenant species," he said to himself. He bent over and scooped up a handful of the gloplorious gunk. "Huh. Smells like bleach."

He lifted two white coated fingers to his air filter. "Oh, oops, now I'm going to be breathing this in all the time." He thought about it. "I better bring a sample of this back to Cortana." He looked down at his belt of ammo pouches. "Well, I don't have any pockets that I can use. I suppose the only option is to _smear it all over my body_."

The Chief picked up two huge handfuls of the white stuff and slowly, carefully lifted them above his head and prepared to douse himself.

He stopped just as he was about to open his hands. "Well, on the other hand, maybe not." He dropped the strange substance back into its pool and walked away.

"I wonder what kind of alien bleeds cum anyways."

The Chief turned an actual corner-imagine that-and came face to face with a bat shit insane marine. The man's face was drawn and pale, double chin jiggling like two gerbils fucking. Sweat poured off him in stinking torrents of fear. "Freaks! Freaks! I won't be like them I'll die first." He seemed to have wet his pants; all his fatigues, including his shirt, were colored dark yellow and dripped steadily at the edges.

Also there was a giant shit load drooping in his pants.

"You calling me a freak you little piece of shit?" asked the Chief, towering over the cowering marine.

"MONSTERS! Monsters! I can still hear them screaming! Oh god somebody help me!" The Marine began to cry like a child, waving the pistol around.

"SHUT YOUR HOLE," said the Chief. "Tell me what happened to my FATHER! I mean, to Captain Keyes."

"Get away from me!" screamed the marine in utter terror. "Who are you?"

The Chief's visor flashed. He leaned in towards the man's sweaty face. "What are you, _dense_? Are you _retarded _or something? I'm the _goddamn Master Chief._"

"AH!" squeaked the marine, his finger twitching on the trigger. The SPARTAN's shield's flared. In an instant, the Chief had grabbed the poor man's wrist. He began to squeeze.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" yowled the marine as his wrist bones were compressed together. The gun dropped from his fingers. His other hand inched towards a frag grenade at his belt. "Sonsa….sonsa…sonsa…"

"Ah-ah-ah, calm down there buddy," muttered the Chief, tenderly breaking both the marine's hands so that he couldn't activate the grenade. It rolled away on the floor and into the shadows.

"M-m-my hands," stammered the marine, too much in shock to scream or cry. "You broke my hands!"

"Ha. Yeah, well." The Chief patted him on the shoulder. The marine's clothing squelched, drops of yellow liquid expelling at the impact as if from a sponge. "Wow you sure did piss a lot," he said, rather awed. _This man…is not human._

The marine shook his head, hunching dejectedly over his now permanently useless hands. "No, no no no, that's not pee. That's _not _pee_…_"

"Sure smells like pee to me," said the Chief. He grinned. "Hey, I made a rhyme!"

The marine shook his head, pale flesh gleaming with sweat and tears. And pee. He nodded to his crotch. "Well, I did pee my pants. But that's not pee on the rest of me." He stopped. "Hey, I also made a rhyme." He sniffed.

"Atta boy!" the Chief clapped the marine jovially on the shoulder, shattering his collar bone. "So what is this yellow stuff?"

The man shook in fear. And agony, from the broken collar bone. "_The things._ The monsters. _They got all over me_. I only just escaped." He began to cry.

"Ah, I see," said the Chief with horrified realization. "These 'monsters' raped you, impregnated you with their alien babies, and that giant lump in your pants is the afterbirth?"

"I shit my pants."

"Oh, of course. Why didn't I think of that." The Chief slowly took a step back from the man. "So tell me, what are these monsters?"

The marine looked up at him. His face was drawn, pale, dark shadows under his eyes. It looked as if he had aged a thousand years in a day. Droplets of sweat ran down his face as he spoke, his lip quivering like that of a small child.

"_…._the _Flood_."

"The Flub?" the Chief scratched his head. "You mean like Flubber? I love Flubber—both the classic film and the remake, as I think both had their charms: the original contained a great sense of the spirit of discovery, of the joy of science run amok; the remake had a beautiful, whimsical aspect to it—that of the dancing Flubber people representing society's norms lifted away to reveal pure, sensual spirit."

The marine shook his head. "What are you_ talking_ about? I said the _Flood_." He shuddered again.

"Oh, the _Flug_. Gotcha."

The marine struck his own face with his hand. "No god damn it! THE FLOOD. F. L. O. O. D." He shuddered one more time, droplets of pus and piss flying everywhere.

The Chief drew back a bit. "Well geez. I get it already. Sheesh." He shrugged. "So what do the 'Flood' do?"

The marine shuddered yet again. Sweat sprang off his body and the lump in his pants seemed to increase. And I _mean _the giant load of shit, not his slightly curved, oversized penis. God, get your mind out of the gutter!

"They do…things. Do things to us. To the Covenant. It's not…right…" he began to wring his broken hands together, oblivious to the pain.

"Wow, thanks for nothing," said the Chief. "What are you, a civilian? Get a hold of yourself. Don't make me take of my helmet and hunker down tenderly next to you to show you that I'm a human too." Of course, he was just kidding. Even the Chief has standards of professionalism.

Unfortunately, try as he might he was not able to get the Marine to talk sense on the subject of this 'Flubgd.' He even tried rabbit punching the poor man ten times, but that didn't work. Finally he gave up.

"Look, I have to go on ahead and find all the people you left to die," said the Chief. He reached down and picked up the pistol. "Here, you can have this back."

The marine ignored him, mumbling something incoherent.

"Take the damn gun," insisted the Chief. He poked the marine with the weapon's barrel. "God damn it, take the gun you fucker!" All of the sudden there was a flash of light and sound. The Chief had accidentally left the safety off. The Marine crumpled to the ground, dead.

"Oh no." The Chief stood there staring at the corpse in stunned shock at what had just happened. He looked down at the Marine, covered in piss, shit, and pus, lying there prostrate like some sort of smelly worshipper. His face looked almost peaceful.

"I won't forget you old friend, whatever your name was," intoned the Chief solemnly. He stood at attention there in the middle of the room, lit by the flickering light of a nearby debris fire, armor dancing gold and green.

Low Scottish bagpipes began to play from somewhere. Then the Chief began to sing "Lay me doon in the caul caul groon. Whaur afore monie mair huv gaun. When they come a wull staun ma groon. Staun ma groon al nae be afraid. Nair mair shall a see the sun. For a fell tae a German's gun. Lay me doon in the caul caul groon. Whaur afore monie mair huv gaun. Whaur afore…monie mair huv gaun."

Then the Chief looked around nervously to make sure there had been no witnesses and arranged the body to look like a suicide.

"How do you expect anyone to believe he pulled the trigger with broken fingers?" said the Chief sidelong to himself, speaking in his shotgun/Cortana voice.

"Ha. Just leave it to a woman to ask a stupid question." When Cortana did not respond he chuckled to himself, then strode off confident in the fact that he had just gotten the last word in.

The Chief and his hoe tromped up the stairs and through more stairs and up other stairs. He came across a large room with a large glass walled container in the middle. It appeared to have been broken, and inside there was lots of slimy yellow liquid everywhere. It looked like mustard.

"Ha. Weird. Maybe this is what that crazy guy was talking about." He came to a larger room with a light bridge in the center, which he took across the room. Looking down, the Chief saw that a Covenant supply crate below had busted open, spilling needler clips all over the room.

"Oh good, that's useful," he said. "I thought those crates had more Covenant in them all along!"

He continued on into the next room and then went down a ramp, turned the corner, and found himself face to face with a locked door.

"Oh no, a door! My one weakness!" He sidled up to the door and saw that there was some sort of hacking pad of human design attached to it. There was also a half devoured dead Covenant Elite body prostrate in front of the door, its blood smeared out in large amounts of copiously goopy purple text all over the door. The Chief ignored the writing and looked at the control pad. The entire pad was covered in the alien's blood and it looked like it had been trying very hard to lock that door.

"Oh, kewl, the keypad is orange! Orange is my favorite color!" The Chief happily punched in some numbers.

"Um, let's see, I'll put in, um…a six, first!" He pressed the six key on the keypad, which had a particularly fresh blood print on it.

A strange squelching sound came from around the corner behind the Chief. He wheeled, raising his rifle as the squelching increased in volume and intensity. You know how in porn, where the bitch will like gag on the dick and shit? Well the sound was like that, except it was infinitely more arousing.

"O-kay," said the Chief perturbedly. He turned back to the key pad. "Well, what the hell, let's go for another six." He noticed that the number key was now dripping human blood. "Huh, that's weird."

Suddenly the squelching sound came back with urgent, rhythmic intensity, like a blast beat of Black Metal band _Dimmu Borgir_. And just like with _Dimmu Borgir_'s new stuff, the intensity went away just as suddenly!

"Well it's gone now." The Chief turned back to the keypad, which had grown horns. He stared at it for a moment. "Okay, I guess another six should do the trick." He poked the button, which was now glowing with hellfire and pulsing steadily under his finger.

The Chief waited for the squelching sound to come again but nothing happened. He shrugged and pressed enter on the keypad. The door slid open AND THE FUCKING DEVIL CAME OUT.

"EEEEEEEEE!" screamed the Chief in the exact pitch of a young girl. He raised his gun and shot it _many times_.

The bullet riddled corpse of Mendoza fell through the door and slid down the Chief's body, its blank and yet somehow fey face running down his crotch piece with extra relish.

"Oh shit, did I just kill Mendoza _again_?" The Chief knelt down by the body, thinking to himself out loud. "Okay Chief, don't worry—if the body is cold then he was already dead! Ah, but I can't feel his temperature through my gloves!" A horrible realization dawned on him.

"I'll have to take his temperature. _ANALLY."_

Well I'll spare you guys the details, but let's suffice to say that things went aan you might expect. There was barely any pain or tearing at all. Oh yeah, and it turned out that Mendoza had already been dead so it was k.

The Chief looked down at the body. He took a deep breath. "Lay me arse doon, ain a big fat one. Were afore, many gays have gun. When he cums, I shall suck his bung. Where afore many tongues have gun. Never more, shall I fuck tae bum. For a fell fer a lady's cun."

He stopped. "Yeah, that doesn't work. Somehow I feel like I'll be seeing Mendoza again real soon." He glanced back at the door. "How would someone die leaning against a door," wondered the Chief. "Unless…he was slammed fucked to death against the wall."

DUN DUN DUN.

"I have solved the case," said the Chief proudly to himself.

ANYWAYS he went into the room and found a helmet. There were no bodies, just an entire Pacific Ocean's worth of bullet casings and nothing else in the whole cavernous place.

"I think at _least _one person shot a gun in here," said the Chief to his shotgun. "Call me crazy, I know; I can smell the powder."

"Oh Chief, I'm—I mean, you're like a modern Sherlock Holmes!" 'said' the shotgun.

"If only I had some hard core shit to mainline just like the world's greatest detective." The Chief picked up the helmet with the intention of taking out the video disk. He started in shock when a severed head fell out of the helmet and rolled away.

"Aah! God damn it George Lucas YOU LIED TO MEEE!"

The Chief pulled out the video disk and punted the head off to the side. He put the disk into his visor receptacle or whatever and it started to play in his head.

Interracial gay Covenant porn appeared on the screen.

_Hunter Anal 7: Foreskinners_

_ Directed by Low Chastity, the Same Company that Brought you Prophet Fuckers 1 through 21._

_ Starring_

_Ano 'Ramee the Elite_

_Lekologinton Streal the Hunter_

_Fukfuk the Grunt_

_Cock-yard the Jackal_

_and of course,_

_ Tartarus, reprising his role as the 'Beast with Two Dicks.'_

"Huh," said the Chief as he stared at the video feed. "That Ano 'Rammee looks a _lot _like Commander Darren. I wonder why this Marine had this channel on his headset."

The Chief switched channels to the video disk, the screen now showing the inside of a pelican. Sergeant Sgt. Johnson was sitting across from the camera self consciously eating fried chicken and watermelon and chugging malt liquor. His eyes dared anyone to comment. There was music playing.

"Sarge, why do we have to listen to this shit anyways?" asked a Marine sitting next to the guy who was recording.

Sgt. Johnson put down his fried chicken and watermelon and walked over to the marine. He lifted the poor man out of his seat and shoved his quite wide nose into his face.

"Did you just dis fitty cent you little piece of shit?" asked the black Sergeant. "What, you want to listen to some gay shit, you little bitch? You want to listen to some fucking pussy fag shit! YOU WANT TO LISTEN TO SOME MOTHER FUCKING LADY GAGA DON'T YOU!"

"Dude," said the Marine. "50 isn't even that hard."

Sergeant Sgt. Johnson shot him in the stomach and kicked his body out of the pelican. Then he spat out the bay door. "Hard enough for you, bitch?"

Suddenly the recording skipped back, the damaged chip taking the Chief to a different part of the disk.

A huge, hairy ass slowly descended towards the camera.

"HOLY SHIT!" screeched the Chief. "I think this might be Mendoza's helmet! But then again I just saw his corpse and he had his helmet on, and his head on, so it can't be his." He fast forwarded to after the pelican scene. They were in the facility now, running through corridors.

"So girlfriends," asked the person wearing the helmet. "Where is the Covenant?"

"I don't know. Do you hear that, though? Sounds like someone's watching _Rent…_"

"Oh that's my iPod," said the helmet marine. "I have it saved on video. It's the only thing on there. Multiple copies of it."

"It really is Mendoza!" muttered the Chief. "This is so fucked up! That guy comes back to life so fast it's like he's dead in the past and alive in the future—but also dead in the future!"

They came across a dead Elite body. Its chest was torn open.

"Looks like something crawled its way out from the inside," said Mendoza, adjusting his helmet and making the camera shake. "Too bad—he looked like he was a pretty cute guy."

"None of your gay agenda for today, Mendoza," said Keyes as he walked into view of the

"WHAT THE FUCK." The Chief bashed his head into a wall whilst still watching the video. "He's alive and dead and then alive and now he's dead but I JUST KICKED HIS HEAD ACROSS THE FUCKING ROOM RIGHT AFTER I SAW HIS BODY WHICH STILL HAD A HEAD!"

"I don't hear nothing," said the third Marine, who had only one line.

"No, no, listen. There's something coming."

"Wait, Mendoza, haven't you been killed like eight times?" asked Keyes as he looked at the camera.

"OH YEAH! REALLY! NO FUCKING SHIT!" screamed the Chief at the movie.

Sgt. Johnson looked at the third marine who still had only one line. "And didn't I kill you too?" he asked. "I shot you and pushed you out a flying plane like half an hour ago. Right?"

The Chief fast forwarded again in frustration. The squad was at a door now, the same door that he had just come through. It was dark and lit by a strange, eerie red light. There was another dead elite lying in front of the door. He had scrawled a message on it with his own blood and vomit; it looked like he had died from a wound to the stomach.

_They are inside among us all die no no open don't open the door don't open the door don't open it don't open it don't open it don't open it don't open the parasite coming the parasite my flesh my flesh don't open the door fear don't flesh open the door don't open the door it is a prison a prison a prison so much flesh and blood pours out open the door don't open it don't don't don't don't don't stop stop stop stop stop the I can feel it moving inside me I can't feel my hands my legs it stole my eyes my eyes my eyes my eyes garn stop stop stop stop stop the please please please I can't feel hand feel hand blood flesh open inside me moving inside me don't open the door don't open the door don't don't stop stop stop …god fucking shit don't open the god damn door its fucking hell in there. Okay let me break it down for you; Halo was built to contain this space virus called the Flood that devours every fucking thing in its path. If you open this fucking door you will doom the entire universe to permanent, agonizing un-death or the complete destruction of all life for all time. So, whatever you do, don't open the god damn fucking door! _The message trailed off in a streak of blood that led to the Elite's severed fingers. It looked like it had chewed its own fingers off and gouged out its own eyes with the stumps. Something had left hundreds of huge gaping bite marks all along its body, and from the blood trails it looked like the elite had dragged itself through the door and locked it with the bloody stump of his left hand, smearing viscera all over the keypad in a desperate, bloody coat of purple. Also someone had painted a swastika combined with a pentagram onto the door with liquefied shit, and there was a dead baby that had somehow become part of the metal door and was screaming with the voice of a thousand tormented souls as insects poured from its mouth.

"Let's open the door," said Keyes.

The Chief got a sinking feeling in his gut. He wasn't quite sure what had tipped him off, but something was just slightly off about this. Something about the message on the door was a tiny bit foreboding, but he just couldn't place what it was.

The door hissed open.

And the Master Chief found himself staring at his own back. Startled, he pulled out the videodisk and turned around.

Keyes, Sgt. Johnson, Mendoza, and the other marine stood there staring at him.

"Chief! How the living heaven did y'all get here?" asked Sgt. Johnson.

"Okay, first, what the fuck was that? Stop trying to be what you think is black. And second, I was just watching a video _of_ you, which I found _in _this room _in a helmet_." He pointed to Mendoza. In fact, that's YOUR helmet." He pointed to a severed head on the ground. "AND THAT'S YOUR FUCKING HEAD."

The straw gay looked around shiftily. "No it isn't."

"Yes it is," said Keyes, looking at the head. "This is definitely yours, Mendoza."

Suddenly, a plasma grenade flew out of nowhere and fused to Sergeant Sgt. Johnson's cap. Confused, he removed his cap and looked down at the glowing blue orb. "Huh, what's this? Some kind of racial slur?"

The Chief gasped in horror. "Johnson, look out! It's a grenade!"

Johnosn's eyes flashed. "What! You think just because I'm a black soldier that I'm a member of the militant Black Panthers? YOU RACIST—"

There was a flash of blinding blue light and a crackle of energy that engulfed Sgt. Johnson. A wave of force and heat blew the Chief and Keyes onto their backs, dust flying everywhere. The Chief coughed as he got to his feet, trying to clear his vision of the debris that the grenade had sent into the air. Where Sergeant Sgt. Johnson had been there was nothing but an African American scorch mark on the ground.

"AVERY!" The Chief turned, looking for the source of the grenade.

"There's nothing you can do for him now," said the Marine that had accompanied them, grinning triumphantly. He reached up and pulled of his own face. It was Eric the Jackal!

Mendoza laughed suddenly. The Chief turned towards him, realizing that the gay marine's voice had been completely different than it normally was. He watched as the fake Mendoza pulled off his mask as well. It was Commander Darren and not Mendoza at all! He took out a plasma pistol.

"Wow, I guess it says a lot that you chose to disguise yourself as a gay person, huh Darren?" said the Chief with viscous anger as Keyes shat himself in shock.

The old captain raised his hand. "Well I'll be, this explains everything; Mendoza was an alien all along!"

"Actually that explains nothing at all," snapped the Chief with shocking anger in his voice, as if he had just seen his best friend murdered. Imagine that. "But I doesn't matter…" He turned towards Darren and Eric, who paled at the look on his visor. "Because I'm going to _fucking murder both of you_." Suddenly the Chief lunged forwards, grabbed Eric by the face, then threw him one handed at Commander Darren.

"Waaaaah" Eric crashed into Darren and they got stuck in tangle of limbs. "Get your hand off my ass, dude!"

"Quick!" Keyes ran up to the Chief. "I don't know what the fuck is going on but we've gotta bail, son! More of these Covie bastards can't be far behind!"

"But…what about Johnson!" whined the Chief.

"SHUT YOUR HOLE SON!" said Keyes. "We can worry about that nigger later. The black guy always dies anyways."

"FINE!" The Chief looked around for an exit as Darren and Fisto recovered. It had not been until this moment, at this very moment in time, that he realized that he had always loved Sergeant Sgt. Johnson. Now Keyes's extreme racism hurt him.

**CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT**

Just as they started for the door Commander Darren finally stood up and aimed his rifle at them. "You're too late, fools! Prepare to face the wrath of the Covenant!"

"Ah!" the Chief ducked behind Captain Keyes. They were stuck in the middle of the room with nowhere to run. The gold elite squeezed the trigger, and…

At that moment the door behind the two elites exploded outwards. A giant ejaculation of fleshy yellowish pus sacks erupted from the entryway, flooding into the room in an avalanche of tendrils, tiny pincer like teeth, and glowing yellow glands.

The Chief pointed. "OH MY GOD IT'S THE FUCKING SWINE FLU!"

The Chief shit his pants as the aliens were buried under a storm of yellow flesh that slammed them to the ground and buried them instantly from sight. The massive wave of parasitic creatures rose up, fifty feet high, so high it blocked out the sun which was actually a lamp on the ceiling. The Chief stared up, and up, and up, paralyzed with shock as the horrible squelching noise hit his ears.

A hand-old, and yet strong and wiry-gripped his wrist. The Chief looked down. There in the shadows next to him stood Captain Keyes.

"Chief," said the old man with an intensity he had never before managed in all his dramatic speeches. "_Run_."

Then the necrotic tsunami broke upon them with the sound of a million fleshy bodies slamming together. The Chief's shotgun was immediately jerked from his hand, and in another instant he lost the pressure of Keyes's grip as well.

"Keeeeeyes!" The Chief was tossed about in the sea of creatures, each one of them pricking at him with tiny pincers. His shields flared and held as he flailed wildly, trying to throw off the millions of assailants. His back found the wall with a painful thump. A billion fleshy bodies battered against the Chief's front as he edged sideways along the wall, feeling for the door. He found it. When it opened the pressure from the mass of creatures sent both him and them flying out the door in a shower of twisting tendrils and limbs. The Chief tucked, rolled, and came up running.

"Wow," he panted to himself. "I've heard of seasonal flooding, but this is ridiculous."

Then he began to cry. He dashed up the ramp—the creatures hot on his heels—and made for the door to the light bridge room.

As the Chief busted out of the door two shambling horrors greeted him. One was a humanoid, half naked, and colored a horrible rotting yellow color. Its head had been pushed off to the side to make room for a large sprouting of tentacles. The other was alienoid, what appeared to be a Covenant Elite. Its head had been thrown casually over one shoulder like a flirty winter scarf. Tentacles protruded from a hole in its chest.

"Oh Christ, McCain and Palin are back!" But before things could get political he plowed through the two zombies, running head on. The zombie elite was knocked aside, but the human was not so lucky. First the Chief's pumping knee slammed into his crotch. The zombie squealed and fell to his knees, but the Chief simply charged straight into him; he knocked the zombie over and stepped on its balls again, then smashed its head like a rip melon as his other foot punched through its chest.

"I AM SO FUCKING SCARED." He ran across the light bridge. Below, a battle was raging between the new threat and Covenant soldiers. "I could go down there and fight, but on the other hand I have absolutely no stake in this," said the Chief, and he sprinted on into the next room. He found himself back in the room with the broken glass chamber.

He looked around. "Hey this isn't so bad…" the entire room was full of the creatures. "For the worst room ever, that is." Some of them were holding guns. A zombie elite not a few feet away turned unsteadily to face him, raised its shotgun, and fired.

"AAAH!" the Chief flung his hands up in front of his face, but it was too late. The blast from the gun went past him by a good two feet and scattered on the wall behind.

He peeked over his hands. "Oh. Okay never mind." The Chief let out a battle cry and plunged his fist into the monster's chest. Flesh and bone parted with equal ease to his super powered strength. The Chief felt into its chest and, to his surprise, found the bulbous body of what he guessed was one of the smaller creatures. He poked it, felt a pop, and the entire beast fell over.

"Guess you just couldn't cut it, huh?" he said the twice dead corpse. He knelt down and picked up its shotgun; he had lost his other shotgun in the first attack.

"You are the new, new Cortana," he said to the gun.

He tried to make a little voice out of the corner of his mouth but his throat hurt so he stopped. The Chief felt sad.

"All my friends are dead," he said to the gun whom he had been going to name Cortana. "Every single one of my friends," he continued, talking to the gun whose name was Cortana. "Johnson, Keyes, Mendoza…" he said to the gun, whose name was Cortana, named after Cortana. "I have nobody left to talk to anymore. This is so sad." He sighed and held tight to his body the shotgun named Cortana after Cortana.

The Chief stopped. "Well, actually, I guess I do have a friend." He looked fondly down at the gun he had named Cortana. "My dick."

Then a million alien zombies piled on top of him from all directions.

"AAARRGGH!" the Chief threw them all off at once, just like that scene from that one action movie. What was it? The one where they're all in a computer simulation, and there's that one guy who can control the simulation? Oh yeah, _Face Off._

Zombies and the infector forms went flying everywhere as the Chief spun around, using the shotgun as some sort of, I don't know, staff, while he kicked everyone.

"Take that you mother fuckers!" he screamed. He stood back up and looked around at all the downed combat forms. He walked up to one that was thrashing on the ground.

"TAKE THAT!" a shotgun blast tore its entire torso off.

"AND THIS!" another zombie lost half its entire body as he moved on.

"AND SOME OF THIS!" he blew the limbs off of a zombie one at a time and then tore its head off.

"AND SOME OF THIS AND THIS AND THAT!" he stepped on the rotten kidneys of one of the creatures, doing absolutely nothing. Then he shot it.

"RAAAGH!" the Chief turned as more zombies barged towards him. "SONSA BITCHES!" he screamed, unloading shell after shell into the yellow forms. "SONSA BITCHES! SONSA BITCHES! SONSA BITCHES!" Grayish yellow stadium mustard blasted as if from a fire hose with every impact, splattering golden brown everywhere. Scraps of mutated flesh pitter pattered every which way.

"DIRTY SONSA BITCHES, SHIT!" screamed the Chief. He rounded on a zombie that had been sneaking up behind him with a sawed-off and punched it so hard that all its limbs exploded. Then he head butted its mangled torso out of the air and into the ground with a loud thwacking sound.

"I'll take you all on, cock roaches," he screamed. A clump of infector forms rolled towards him. The Chief just roared at them with all his fury and rage. They all popped like water balloons.

"GUESS YOU JUST COULDN'T CUT IT, MOTHER FUCKERS. GUESS YOU JUST COULDN'T CUT IT."

He turned. A zombie was shambling towards him…except this one had been a woman. He didn't recognize her twisted, messed up face. Tears were tracking down her once beautiful features, and a golden wedding ring was on one finger.

"SONSA BITCHES!" The Chief tore her in half like a taco, blood and rotten guts spurting everywhere. The entire room was covered in mustard. The Chief turned on the spot, staring around at the dozens upon dozens of oozing, pulverized corpses. He let out a breath of air.

"Fuck. You. All."

Then he walked on to the elevator room.

The Chief mounted the elevator and strode over to the control panel. He pressed a button, then looked around at the elevator shaft suspiciously.

"This fucking thing better go _up_," he said to nobody in particular. "Because if it broke down and sent me all the way down to the fucking bottom floor I'd be _pretty pissed_."

The elevator began to move. There was rumbling, creaking sound, and it started to drop ever so slightly. The Chief growled something unintelligible and drove his fist into the control panel, smashing half the electronics there. The hologram flickered for a moment. Then the elevator hurriedly began sliding upwards again in an almost apologetic fashion.

"There. That's better." The Chief cracked his knuckles and stood in the center of the shaft, shotgun over one shoulder.

He got to the top and emerged back into the swamp, climbing a short hill to gain a vantage point in the darkness. The Chief was startled when his motion tracker began to beep, showing red blobs everywhere. He looked up. He had walked _straight_ into a Covenant ambush. A veritable hoard of grunts, elites, and two hunters had surrounded him, and were all pointing their weapons at him. Two hunters stood side by side among their ranks.

The Chief sighed loudly. "Look you assholes: I don't have time to deal with your shit. I'm in a bad fucking mood today."

"IT'S THE DEMON!" roared a veteran Elite. "Everyone! DESTROY HIM!"

A rolling drum beat began to rev up as the Chief slowly raised the new shot gun. A group of grunts bull rushed him up the hill and the Chief gave the gun one solitary pump. A single hippo branded shell popped out of the chamber and spiraled in a slow smoke traced trail towards the earth. The Chief lowered his visor.

"Have it your way."

The shotgun shell hit the floor.

Ten million buckshot pellets slammed point blank into the face of the first grunt, completely tearing his skull to shreds of bloody meat. A puff of blood escaped from his stubby neck stump as the Chief kicked the body down the hill. It rolled, arms pin wheeling as it smashed into its former colleagues. The grunts screamed in surprise and shock as the body literally tore their legs out from underneath them, sending bloody limbs spiraling into the fresh and minty night air. The Chief threw a grenade in less time than it takes for a quantum leap to occur. The frag grenade slammed solidly into the limp hand of a flying severed grunt arm. By pure dead reflex, the hand clenched, holding it tight. The Chief rolled forwards, flipped the shotguns grip around, and slammed the butt of the weapon into the arm like a batter for the [Insert American State Here] [Insert Random Animal Name Here] It shot into the night like a rocket at ten times the speed of light, breaking not only the sound, light, and impossible barriers, but also tearing a hole in reality. The arm speared straight through the solar plexus of the Veteran Elite, burying the grenade deep in his body. The Elite looked down at the arm protruding from its chest and then back up at the Chief.

"WHAT THE FUCK-"

BOOOOOM! A supersonic explosion tore the Elite to napalm-esque chunks of burning flesh and a rain of burning blood that showered the Covenant, setting their hairpieces on fire. Then the Chief reached over his shoulder and punched the towering oak tree behind him into two pieces, which then fell with thunderous crashes on either side of him down the middle, crushing handfuls of Covenant on either side and spraying their blood in a slick river down the middle. The Chief jumped and surfed on the body of a dead grunt down this river, holding his arms out to clothesline the other Covenant as he did so. Their heads popped off as he hit them each in turn. Finally, the Chief grabbed the end of either side of the split tree to stop himself, turned in mid air, and kicked the headless grunt's body again. It rocked back down the center of the tree, kicking up a wake of blood, and shot off into the darkness of the forest only to explode in mid air for no apparent reason.

The Chief jumped back as more Covenant appeared, climbing over the fallen tree to aim their guns at him. A pair of hunters jumped down from above. Grinning, the Chief sunk his fists into the ends of the two halves of the massive tree. He held the two ten billion ton trunks above his head and began rubbing them together—until suddenly fire sprung from their old growth! The fire was brightest between the two halves, although they were both wholly alight. The Chief inhaled a great breath of air and blew down the center, sending a fireball only slightly larger than _the sun_ at the two hunters. They covered their eyes, but it was too late. The fireball rolled over them and they died.

The Chief then threw the two halves of the tree high into the air. Then the Chief dashed forwards at the speed of instantaneously and spread his legs, flipped onto his back, and kicked both flaming slabs of timber high up into the night sky. He shot back up into a crouch, whipped out two grenades, threw them up in the air, jumped up in the air, and then kicked them both in opposite directions. The grenades imbedded themselves into the two tree halves of the oak as they flew up into the air. The next moment they detonated with a force approximate to infinite nuclear explosions, sending an entire sea's worth of sperm whale sized instantly fossilized, crystallized, magnetized and diamondized shards of former wood zinging off in literally every single geometrically possible direction at once. The shards tore through the swamp in less than point zero zero zero zero zero zero one tenth of a millisecond, instantly reducing the entire swamp to a flaming wasteland where no living thing stood nor ever would ever stand again.

The Chief settled to earth with the grace of a falling autumn leaf. He examined his shot gun for a moment, and then carefully and deliberately pumped it. A spent casing tumbled to earth as he looked up.

The entire world was dead.

He walked in the decimated swamp for a time. Ashes drifted down around him, alighting on his scorched green armor. Nothing else moved amongst the completely flattened and bunt out landscape. The Chief shrugged and was just about to call for a pick up when a faint blue light appeared in the haze. He blinked, squinting at it as it bobbed closer. The sound of somebody humming accompanied it.

Suddenly a floating robot appeared in front of him. It was about the size of two basketballs combined, with a large blue oculus surrounded by a shiny chrome encasement. It glowed.

"Oh, hello there," came a decidedly upbeat voice from no discernable place on the machine. "I am 343 Guilty Spark."

"Oh, hi," said the Chief, raising a hand splayed in the manner of a retard's enormous paw. "Are you a fairy?"

"No," said the robot without missing a beat.

"My name is the Chief," said the Chief tiredly. He really didn't feel like talking.

"Your name is unimportant, organic," continued the robot in that same cheery voice. "Like all your kin you are only meat, to be molded, shaped, and perhaps devoured by other meat. Then you are discarded."

"Yeah, you're probably right." The Chief shuffled his feet. "Whelp, I'ma go..." He turned to leave.

The small robot zipped up next to him. "Ah-ah, I think not, meat bag. I have business with your sweating, stinking carcass. There is something that needs retrieving from the depths of this facility."

"So?" The Chief felt light headed. His vision was beginning to grow white. _Oh no! I've been ruffied! I'm going to be date raped by this metal soccer ball!_

"You" said the robot, its eye glowing as yellow light crept up around them, "are going to help me retrieve the Index, flesh sot."

A buzzing sound filled the ashen air. "What!" shouted the Chief as the golden light wrapped itself around him. "But I don't wanna fuck a duplex!" His body began to fly apart. "AAAH! What's happening!"

Then he and Guilty Spark exploded into a million golden pieces of golden light. In that instant they were completely gone. The swamp went silent again, leaving only a single question hanging unspoken in the air: how long would anyone actually stay dead?


	15. Bonus Chpt 2 The Other Half of the Oreo

_In the words of Dirty the Pooh:_

_All of the sudden there was a whirring sound and a clicking sound a pirate sound and a fapping sound and there he was; Ridley the Violator, just as he had always been. Except that he was a faggot._

"_Good morning, niggas."_

_**Progress Update: **__Jesus Christ, the Library chapter is taking longer than a duck's dick. It's so hard to write jokes for because the level has no 'beats,' that is, it's all completely the same and monotonous. There is literally nothing to work with at all. Not fun, I've been avoiding it and working on this awesome bonus chapter. Thrills, chills, and (anal) spills for everyone! Get ready for a wiiiild riiiide-_

**The One Where Everybody Else Dies**

**Or**

**Bonus Chapter II**

Lieutenant Oreo was not having a good day, again.

She awoke to a creaking sound coming from the bunk above hers, the rhythm punctuated by two sets of masculine groans; it was Mendoza's bunk. Oreo rolled her eyes with the practiced ease of a professional 'female-character-in-an-online-series,' the motion popping the huge oreo cookie crumbs out of her eye lids. She had fallen asleep spooning a box of cookies.

The revelry horn blew as the Lieutenant got out of bed and began to dress, putting on a black and white undershirt before donning a black and white uniform and running a hand through sleep tousled black hair that stuck to white skin. As she did this a half naked man awkwardly clambered out of the top bunk and waddled over to his own foot locker to begin getting dressed. Oreo ignored this and used the bedpost to stretch out a bit before putting on her fresh, brand spanking new Helljumper armor, as well as a personal side arm. As she got in line with the other Helljumpers, all talking trash as they waited to grab their weapon off the rack (I have no idea how the military works, okay,) another half naked man clambered out of Mendoza's bunk and sheepishly waddled back to his locker. Oreo tried not to notice, and also to ignore the retarded trash talk that the Helljumpers were engaging in.

"Bunch of gay little pansy queers around here," said one Helljumper to the room at large.

"You should smoke cigars like me," countered another, as he lit a cigar. "They'll make you a god damn sexual predator."

"Ha, rapists and gays—bet they both got AIDS," said an asian Helljumper, whose name was Bruno B. Brown, know to his friends as BJ.

"Sheet, we all know you jus' jealous cause you was _born_ with the clap," laughed a black marine, so it was okay for him to say that.

Instead of rolling her eyes Oreo told them to shut up. "Hey guys," she said, yawning half way through her sentence as she spotted yet another man climbing out of Mendoza's bunk, "Do you think you could maybe not make jokes about AIDS?"

"Sorry new girl," laughed the asian, "we wouldn't want to hurt Mendoza's feelings, would we."

One of the men who had climbed out of Mendoza's bunk looked over with a horrified expression. At that moment, an entire boatload of half naked men tumbled from the bunk and scattered across the floor, collecting themselves and racing off towards their respective foot lockers.

Oreo stared. "…Did anyone else just see that?" she asked, looking back at her new co-workers.

"Huh?" asked the black marine, grabbing his rifle and checking the safety lock whatever thing.

She looked around at the quizzical faces of the Helljumpers. "Okay, never mind." Oreo, the last in line, grabbed her gun and turned to leave after the others. When she looked behind herself she was faced with an entirely new line of half naked men, all clutching sheets to their genitals and blushing in utter embarrassment. Oreo's glanced up at Mendoza's bunk. All she could see was a lightly tanned and stereotypically womanly ankle hanging over the edge. Obviously the marine was going to miss roll call.

"Oh, god damn it." Oreo irritably pushed past the line of naked men and hopped up onto her bunk to peer up at Mendoza's prone form. Her eyes bugged out.

"Wow Mendoza, I guess you…" she rubbed her eyes, trying to get the sight of a Uranus sized anus out of her memory. But it would always be there, for the rest of her life. Like a scar. Like being raped. "I guess you set a new record for yourself, huh?" she asked.

"Can't talk," mumbled Mendoza, face down in the very white sheets. "Too much co—"

"Yeah," said Oreo quickly, "I hear you, I always think of a large rooster crowing when I hear revellery, too."

She glanced over at the gun rack. All the half-naked Helljumpers had left by now, leaving only Mendoza's extremely large, curved assault rifle with a bulbous head. Oreo shook her own head ruefully. "Come on Mendoza," she said. "You don't want to get dressed down by McKay."

"Oh, if only I were straight, I could have made a crack at that." Mendoza slowly peeled his naked Mexican body away from the bed sheets. "I need to get a shower before I head out, girlfriend. Will you cover for me?"

Oreo carefully looked away, feeling faintly ill at the massive haze of bleach stench that swept over her. "Uh, yeah. Sure." She staggered off towards the door. "I'll see you later Mendoza."

Oreo was muttering herself when she slammed the barrack's shitty screen door closed and stepped out into the harsh morning light of the Butte. "God damn that guy, how do you even _have _sex with half the men in the universe?" She made a yuck face. "I have never seen a prolapse that big in my entire life!"

With that the Lieutenant began her patrol around, shall we say, the 'rim' of the Butte's whole area; Major Silva had the Helljumpers each do one patrol in the morning before going to the mess hall to eat breakfast—at least, that's what McKay had told her. Oreo wondered why she didn't see any of the other ODSTs patrolling as well. It was probably all one big misunderstanding.

Oreo checked the XXXL sized pocket on her breast to make sure her medication was still there. She jumped when the loudspeakers on the outside of the base suddenly crackled to life.

"Attention all peons! This is Major Silva speaking. Mandatory cavity searches of all non-ODST personnel will begin this month as scheduled, replacing the daily mandatory pubic hygiene assistance course for the time being until I see fit to reschedule it. Also, Major McKay has informed me that some uppity young men and women have taken to putting panties and collars on the Covenant prisoners and leading them around the cell block. I will of course be handing out medals to all involved, so long as they are great, perfect and awesome Helljumpers."

The Lieutenant face palmed. "Jesus Christ." Her patrol route took her around the barracks again, and she stared hopefully at the screen door. "Damn, I wish Mendoza were here." She yawned and stretched her arms up into the air, rolling her eyes. "Gee. It sure is _boring around here_."

"My boy!" said a voice behind her. She whirled to see the black Marine from before trotting up to her. He saluted her. "Private Keith Kinkaid, sir!" he said smartly. "Just trying out some of these ebonic phrases that everyone thinks I should know."

Oreo gasped, lowering her rifle to aim at the tall black man. "I recognize that name! Sergeant Johnson said that one of those Covenant bastards disguised as a black guy named Keith."

Keith shrugged ruefully. "It's true; they stole my identity over the internet. But don't worry, I'm the real article. I was cleared with Major Silva and everything, don't worry." He winked. "I won't throw the contents of my bag at you."

Oreo blinked. "What?"

Keith rattled his gym bag. "My bag. The Covenant hid some of their agents in a bag last time, to smuggle them in."

"That's really…weird." Oreo lowered her gun and extended a hand to Keith. "Well, I guess if the Major cleared you, then you're okay. The name's Or-hei-o Crème."

Keith shook. He had a very mild grip that seemed to belie his fearsome, muscularly tattooed aspect. "Is that an Asian name?" he asked.

Oreo nodded. "My great grandfather was a Japanese breast milk growth hormone technician. He spent his whole life obsessing over breast milk." She laughed. "They kept the name."

"I see. I'm from Ethiopia myself," said Keith as they set off down her patrol route. He looked around. "Hey, where's your Mendoza friend? Isn't he usually with you?"

She sighed. "Oh no, not you too."

Keith pursed his lips. "Look, just because I'm black and not a gangster doesn't mean I'm a homosexual."

Oreo's face flushed with embarrassment. "...Sorry. It's not that, it's just that Mendoza seems to be some sort of quantum anomaly. He can't exist in a place with more than three men around without having sex with at least one of them."

"I hear that," hooted Keith.

Oreo looked at him questioningly.

"I mean I literally hear that; he has orgies in the bunker every night, and I sleep right next to you guys."

"Ugh, don't remind me." Oreo shuddered. "You don't _want_ to know what kind of shit soaks through his mattress and drips down onto me."

Keith made a sympathetic noise. "Mhm. Tell you what: I'll take this patrol off your hands and you can go eat breakfast. Maybe that will make you feel better."

"Oh wow, really?" Oreo gave him a pat on the back. "Thanks so much Keith. We'll talk later, I guess."

"Bye." Keith waved her away.

Oreo jogged to the mess hall. As she went, the intercom system blared again.

"This is Major Silva again. I would like to announce the completion of the long awaited feature film 'Lord Commander Major Silva: Savior of us All—An Educational Documentary,' which was shot on site by some of our very own very special and talented Helljumpers. Viewing this will also be mandatory. Everyday. For the next year. Major Silva out."

"What the hell!" Oreo muttered to herself. "This guy is insane." She stormed into the cafeteria and trudged up to the food line. Behind her, a pack of Marines barked and growled at each other, fighting over a pudding with loud yips and nips. The Helljumpers watched with amusement, then went back to staring at their own reflections in their silver lunch trays and preening.

Oreo slammed her own tray down on the sliding counter and looked at the cook. "Give me whatever you got."

"Okay gurl," sassed the cook, who was a sassy black woman. She plopped a scoop of mashed potatoes onto Oreo's plate. "Hey hey hey!"

"What the hell." Oreo shook her head and slid over to the next station.

"Awr. I arm cook Psye, I come to be giving you dinner," said the buck toothed and extremely skinny and yellow cook. "What do you want: white or red meat?"

Oreo stared at him. "…White?"

"Okay, red." Psye dropped an egg mcmuffin onto her tray. "NEXT."

"What the hell!" Oreo gritted her teeth and shuffled to the final cook, the coffee maker.

"Hola Chica," said the Mexican barista. "What can I get paratuestedia?"

Oreo blinked, shook herself, and stared at him. "I…what? Coffee, I guess."

"Si, si." He gave her a mug of coffee. "Me gusta tu boobs."

"What?"

"Chau."

Oreo shrugged and walked towards the Helljumper's super awesome table in the center of the cafeteria. The Helljumpers all looked up at her as she made to sit down in an open space. As one they moved to block her, shifting so that there was no longer any room for her to sit. Some of them glared at her.

"Okay…I guess I'll sit over here." Oreo sat down at an entirely unoccupied table and began to eat. She took a sip of her coffee. It was the worst god damn coffee in the world. Somebody sat down next to her.

"Hey…uh, can we sit here?" asked the Marine who had just sat down next to her. He grinned sheepishly.

"Yeah, sure." Oreo took a bite of her mcmuffin while looking him over. He was remarkably short for a white person, and had an odd manner to him, as if he were not comfortable in his own skin.

"Cool!" said a voice from her right. Oreo swiveled in her seat to see a rather tall and lanky Marine sitting down on her opposite side. He grinned at her.

"Oh, hi," said Oreo. She took a bite of mashed potatoes. Why the hell would they serve these at breakfast, she wondered.

"My name's, uh, Julius," said the short Marine, extending a pudgy hand to her. He was a bit fat, and Oreo shook with him.

"Nice to meet you," she lied. "I'm Oreo."

"Cool name," said the tall and the thin Marine. "I'm Pompey."

Oreo smiled winningly. "Hi. Why aren't you guys sitting with the others?" She nodded at the Marine's table, which was a kid's table covered in dried gum. A pack of Marines sat at it, drooling and smashing their own faces into plates of gruel.

"Oh, uh…we're new here," said Julius. "Uh…we uh…"

Pompey laughed nervously. "It's cool, Julius. We just came in from…a drop ship. We are survivors."

"Survivors of what?" asked Oreo.

Pompey's eyes darted about. "…death…"

"Ah." She nodded sympathetically. "You mean you're from the Chief's division."

"…yes."

Julius busted in, as if trying to make conversation. "Hey, uh, so, how about this food? It's pretty great, huh?"

Oreo looked at him skeptically. "Yeah, no, it seems pretty bad to me."

"Uh, yeah, I'll say," continued the short, pudgy Marine. "I mean, I'd take the food nipple over this any day."

Behind Oreo, Pompey made frantic head shaking motions at him. The Lieutenant just stared.

"Huh? Food nipple?" she eyed Julius suspiciously. "Hey…wait a minute…"

Behind her, Pompey slowly removed A COVENANT ENERGY SWORD FROM HIS POCKET.

"I know what's going on here!" said Oreo, sitting up. "'Food nipple!' YOU'RE SOME KIND OF BREAST MILK FETISHIST." She threw her arms up. "God DAMN IT how do you people find me! LEAVE ME ALONE." She stormed away, leaving her tray behind.

Pompey sighed in relief and holstered his sword. He glanced at Julius, who was shaking with nerves. "Hey, bro, it's cool," he said. "We can do this. Just wait for the signal, and we can kill all these fucking humans."

"Uh, right." Julius wiped sweat from his brow. "The signal. Are the others in position?"

Pompey smiled evilly. "Oh yeah. It's _cool_."

Lightening flashed in the distance as an organ played. Everyone in the mess hall turned around, looking for the source of the noise. Oreo stopped at the door and looked to. Pompey and Julius both began to sweat heavily, until they realized that the sound had come from the wall behind them. They turned to see that someone had started up a cheap movie projector and was projecting onto the far wall. The cheap intercom was broadcasting ominous organ synth music.

Oreo stared at this with some trepidation, her hand stopped in the act of reaching for the door.

_Oh god, what now?"_

Vomit inducing marching band music began to play as the movie began. A cheerful voice that would sound at home in a Cold War propaganda film began speaking over a superimposed title card.

"_Helljumper Productions-'Feet First into Hell' Presents: __Lord Commander Major Silva: Savior of us All—An Educational Documentary."_

The Lieutenant's black eyes began to bulge. She pulled frantically on the door, but it would not open. Somebody had locked them into the room.

"Hello there little Timmy," said the voice cheerfully as the trumpets blared. Oreo turned back to see a horrifyingly cute cartoon boy in a Little League uniform, standing in empty space and looking around curiously for the source of the voice."

"_Oh my god what is this shit—" _She slumped into the doorframe, mouth gaping open in horror. One of the Marines shushed her angrily.

"Off to the ball game, eh' Timmy. Yes, America's favorite past-time. But wait; before you go enjoy fine day-old American cuisine and pent up homosexualust expressed through groping and phallic violence, you might want to learn about who it is that makes a day at the balls game possible!"

The cartoon Timmy nodded vigorously.

"It's all thanks to our lord and savior Major Silva! Why, without Major Silva, fine things like WATER and AIR would not exist. Why, without his careful, considered leadership and saint's soul, everyone you love would DIE. DIE. Everyone you love would die. Everyone you love would DIE." The voice became increasingly enthusiastic, and Oreo thought she recognized it for a moment.

"Anyways, you might be interested to know, Timmy, that the very reason your fine, supple little ass is still being pumped round and round with delicious, glorious blood is that Major Silva, savior of us all had the great, incomprehensible wisdom to command our old pal Master Chief to go and rescue mean ol' captain Keyes. Why, I bet you didn't know that it was only at his behest that we all ARE ALIVE? With Captain Keyes's tactical advice, we've been able to formulate an effective plan against those darn Covenants."

The triumphant trumpeting music changed to rather ominous organ synths.

"But even good ol' Captain Keyes can make mistakes. Any man can overstep his bounds, just like our old pal SATAN did in Paradise Lost. If you don't catch the simile I'm making here," continued the voice cheerfully, "it's that Captain Keyes is satan and Major Silva is god. I impress myself with my own intelligence sometimes. By the way, without Major Silva, who made WATER and AIR, everyone you love would DIE and you would not be ALIVE."

Oreo blinked, wiping sweat from her brow. She looked around and saw that everyone else in the room was staring raptly at the projection.

"You might also be interested to know," continued the cheerful voice, "that like a _jew_, Captian Keyes plans to DESTROY EVERYTHING YOU HOLD DEAR."

Everyone in the room gasped. Oreo looked at the screen again, and saw that the camera had zoomed in on Timmy's cartoon face. That face had become a featureless mask, the eyes replaced with two round spinning disks.

"This is so retarded," grated Oreo to herself. "I mean, differently abled."

"Yes," continued the voice jovially, "and so does that asshole Chief and his cow slut. In fact, all those mother fuckers want to fuck you up. So remember: trust only Major Silva, because everyone wants to fuck you up, I mean, I want to fuck you all up too, especially you Oreo."

Oreo gaped.

_Oh…shit._ Slowly she began to stand up, her eyes staring around the room.

There was a coughing sound. Then the voice resumed. "Oh, uh, where was I?" The camera had completely zoomed in on one of Timmy's spinning eyes so that it filled the screen. "God damn you better pay me extra for this, you silver faggot, this is taking forever. I have people to do and things to rape. Ah, here we go: Major Silva is your father. Major Silva is your mother. Major Silva is father, mother, son, god, wife, husband, lover, friend, and conscience. Without Silva there would be no AIR. Without Silva there would be no WATER. Without SILVA there would be no EARTH. Without SILVA all would be FIRE. Without Silva YOU would never BE."

A high pitched tone, like that of a tuning fork, began to play over the intercom. The screen gained an ugly reddish tint. Oreo looked around, her hand furtively reaching towards the door knob again.

"You live to serve," intoned the voice. "You live to serve. Let me hear it, bitches."

"_We live to serve_," intoned the assembled Marines and Helljumpers.

"I can't hear you!"

"WE LIVE TO SERVE!" they roared. Oreo covered her ears.

"I CAN'T HEAR YOU!"

"WE LIVE TO SERVE!"

"GIVE ME AN S!"

"S!"

"GIVE ME AN E!"

"E!"

"GIVE ME AN R!"

"R!"

"GIVE ME A V!"

"V!"

"GIVE ME AN E!"

"E!"

"WHAT'S THAT SPELL!"

**"ATTACK NOW!"**

Plasma fire erupted from one corner of the room, showering over the occupied tables. People shrieked as immensely heavy loads of plasma hit them, finally killing one. Oreo gave a gigantic scream. A second later, a masterpiece of a plasma grenade skidded across the table and detonated, showering everyone with burning hot death. Oreo dove for cover behind the counter. She pulled out her pistol and peeked around the corner as the projected movie continued to play its final message on repeat.

"ATTACK NOW. ATTACK NOW. ATTACK NOW. The Chief is a queer. ATTACK NOW!"

She saw the source of the attack: a Covenant Elite and Grunt were hidden behind an over turned table, taking pot shots at the scattered Marines and Helljumpers. People were dying left and right. Oreo noticed two discarded rubber human suits near the aliens. She shook her head; no time to worry about that, or why Major Silva's brainwashing propaganda that he had paid Cercil, of the Covenant, to narrate had a secret message in it, for the Covenant, telling the Covenant that had infiltrated their ranks to attack while the humans were being brainwashed by a movie that Major Silva had made, for the Covenant.

"Oh shit," she said to herself, finally figuring it out.She looked off to her right and saw that the cafeteria cooks were all dead; their throats had been cut by the aliens as everyone was distracted by the film. She looked into the dead, tragic eyes of the Mexican barista.

_…No me gusta…_

Oreo gritted her reeth, then corrected herself and gritted her teeth. She stood up, aimed her pistol, and fired off a crack shot at the grunt. The diminutive alien spun to the ground, blueberry ice cream ejaculating from his head. The Elite screamed in rage.

"Juuuuuulius! WE WILL NEVER HAVE A FOURSOME WITH THE TWINS AGAIN!"

He stood up and started firing at Oreo, who was making for the door. By this time the Marines and the Helljumpers had collected themselves enough to shit their pants and faint in the former case and actually find their dicks in the latter case, though with the latter they needed the help of a map and a flashlight. By the time Oreo dove for the door they were able to return tepid, measly fire at the Elite. His shields flared and he ducked down, avoiding the fire that had made his shields flare.

"Get…open!" screamed Oreo, smashing her foot into the lock. It would not budge. The Elite poked his head out and shot off a plasma bolt at Oreo. It hit her on her armored back, doing no damage but making her stumble forwards from the impact of, um, hot stuff hitting her. One of her tits swung wildly and smashed into the door. Immediately it was torn out of its frame and slammed into the opposite wall, splitting in half as it did so. Oreo ducked out of the room, then poked her head back in.

"Can you guys handle this mook?" she asked the Helljumpers and the Marines.

They were all dead.

Oreo stared. "…God damn it."

"Ah ha!" said the Pompey the Elite, jumping out from behind cover. He aimed his gun and fired at her exposed head, but he was out of charge from killing everyone. It fizzled, and he looked from his failing weapon to Oroe.

"Fuck."

Oreo shot him in the head with her pistol. Pompey flipped over backwards, dead.

_There can be only __**one**__ vaguely homosexual Covenant pairing._

The Lieutenant turned back to the hallway of the mess hall at large. It was utter chaos. Herds of techies stampeded, chased by packs of slavering marines. Also the Covenant were attacking. Plasma bolts flew from the plasma rifles of cloaked plasma elites, searing and scorching the assembled masses. Oreo shot a grunt with a panty hose on its head and a collar on its neck who was chasing after a Marine, barking. Her mind raced as she took cover around a corner, around which a group of Jackals were trying to hack the door to the Helljumper's private vomitorium. There were too many of them for her to take out on her own.

"Wait up!" came a deep African American voice. Keith the Ethiopian helljumper came barreling down the corridor towards her. "Lieutenant," he gasped, "we're under attack!" He had his plasma rifle ready and everything.

"I know," said Oreo grimly, "and I have reason to believe Major Silva is to blame. The man's insane!"

"This may sound inane," put in Keith, "but I think you're right! He's turned the butte into his own personal brick mad house!"

"Right! Help me take out these Jackals," said Oreo.

"Okay!" said Keith. He pulled out a plasma grenade and threw it at the Jackals. They squawked in surprise and exploded.

Oreo nodded. "Good job, Keith. Now we have to make a trip to Commander Center. Maybe if we can stop Silva, we can stop this attack."

Keith nodded. "Cut off the head and the serpent dies."

Oreo nodded. "That doesn't really apply, since Silva is a traitor and not their leader, but let's go."

They made for the exit, which had a sign called exit over it. Some Covenant chased them down the hall and Keith returned fire with his plasma rifle. Oreo watched him do this, then gave covering fire so that they could escape through the push-door unharmed.

They stepped out into the night, even thought it had been morning an hour ago. It was also raining dramatically. A buzzing sound caught her attention and Oreo looked up to see swarms of Covenant drop ships swooping in to drop off their cargo. Human pelican drop ships were exploding left and right, as were human bodies. Some marines tried to return cover fire with their guns, but guns generally don't work against space ships unless they are also space ship guns. Protip: they all died. Oreo shook her head and headed towards the command center with Keith. They kept their heads down so as not to attract unwanted attention. But unwanted attention found them.

Mendoza came flouncing up as they were almost to the command door.

"Oreo," he gasped. "The Covenant attacked us from behind! We never saw them coming! They came from behind!"

"I get it," she said, rolling her eyes. "Very funny Mendoza."

"I thought so." Mendoza looked at Keith. "Who's your cute friend?"

"This is Keith," said Oreo. "He's a Helljumper." She paused, arching an eyebrow at Keith who sheepishly hid the plasma rifle and plasma grenades behind his back. "Who uses Covenant junk, I guess."

"I wouldn't mind using some Covenant junk," said Mendoza, glancing around at the hordes of alien warriors inundating the whole of the butte with their burning hot liquid death.

"Ew. Mendoza, really?" asked Oreo with some disgust as they finally reached the back door to the command center. Keith Kinkaid looked at Mendoza with a half amused, half curious expression on his face. "I mean, they're aliens," continued Oreo. "…What kind of person would want to bang someone from a different species? I mean, really. That's just sick."

"Yes really," said Mendoza solemnly. "It is my sacred duty to bone all male booty."

Oreo decided that she didn't want to learn where that was going. They filed into the command center. "Come on, Silva's office is in the center of the building." She motioned for them to follow, and they did.

There were Covenant patrolling everywhere, as if they had made it a point to secure this building first.

"We have to be stealthy," said Oreo sagely to the others. They nodded and set off down a side passage, taking a less direct route to Silva's office. A passing elite patrolman walked down a side corridor and they all gasped, standing perfectly still. His cone of vision fell just short of them and he turned and left. They breathed a sigh of relief, only to re-inhale that sigh when another elite came around the corner behind them.

The blue armored alien looked down at the ground. "Hey, whose footprints are these?"

"Shit!" Oreo grabbed the others and pulled them around a corner. When the elite started to pass she stepped out and karate chopped him in the neck, killing him instantly.

"Smooth moves girl," said Mendoza. Keith nodded as well, and they proceeded on to Silva's office, only to find that there were two veteran elites and four jackals guarding it.

Oreo gaped at the impressive troops and ducked back around the corner. She turned to her friends. "It's bad out there," she said. "I don't think we can take them."

Mendoza and Keith looked concerned. "We've got to do this Lieutenant," said Keith. "Remember, cut off the snake and the head dies."

"What?" Oreo shook her head. "Never mind. We just need a plan, some way to distract them…" Her eyes fell on Mendoza and a thought came to mind.

"Hey Mendoza…what did you say about wanting to try out Covenant junk?"

Minutes later, Mendoza rounded the corner dressed in nothing but daisy dukes and a knot-tied shirt, and a giant thong. He waddled on his high heels towards the guards, crotch bulge clearly visible.

One red elite nudged the other. "Hey, Pyrrhus, check this out."

"God damn it Africanus what is it now?" barked the other, looking up from his iPhone. He saw. "Oh…now what's this?"

Mendoza smirked sexily at the guards and slapped his own ultra muscular ass. He beckoned for the aliens to follow with a single crooked finger.

They all instantly became gay.

"Oh damn," chirped a Jackal. "I can wait to get a piece of that ass."

"Damn straight," replied another Jackal. The other to twittered in agreement. The elites looked at each other, grinned, and then started towards Mendoza. The jackals followed. Mendoza giggled and waddled as fast as he could down the opposite corridor.

When they were gone Oreo poked her head around the corner to look.

"Wow," said Keith. "I'm not sure if I'm glad that worked or not." He tapped his split chin.

"I know what you mean," said Oreo, still half not believing what she had just allowed to happen. "I think unleashing Mendoza on them qualifies as chemical warfare. If semen is a chemical."

"Right." Keith laughed nervously. Oreo looked worried but turned opened the door to Silva's office. Keith followed and closed it behind him.

Major Silva sat there in the darkness as his flickering monitor flickered onto his face with an eerie silver light. He was gripping the silver arms of his silver chair, silver glasses glinting in the silver light.

"Major…_Silva_," intoned Oreo.

He looked up from the cp on his computer and subtly x'd out. "Ah. Oreo. And you brought a friend. What is this about, Lieutenant? Surely you should be outside fighting the Covenant." He grinned, is silver fillings glittering ominously off his silver eyes.

"Don't try that bullshit on me," snapped Oreo. "I know your game. I saw your movie. I saw your guards. You sick son of a bitch—how could you betray humanity like this?"

"It's quite simple," said Silva, standing up. He was wearing a silver business suit. He walked over around the desk and picked up a golf putter, then began putting around the little miniature golf course in his office while Oreo watched.

"Surely you can understand what it's like to be…_under appreciated_." He glanced at her rack. "Yes, I think you can, being a woman from…JAPAN."

Oreo gasped. "How did you know I was from JAPAN?"

"You have quite the impressive file," said Silva. "Scientist father, early military service, breast milk donations…"

Oreo sneered. "Don't even start. I'm placing you under military-type arrest, 'Major.'"

Silva continued to ignore her. "No husband or children, parents dead, nothing to live for…the perfect soldier. Or…are you?" He grinned. "Tell me, Oreo…what do you remember about your parents."

"I…" Oreo stared.

Silva laughed. "Lies. Lies within lies within lies. Tell me, Oreo, what do you think of the color _silver_? A simple color, almost innocuous. But shown to a certain woman, a woman who never saw the sun until she killed the enemies of earth beneath it, a woman without a past or a future…a woman programmed to sleep walk through life until she saw that one specific color known as silver." He flashed the silver pin on his silver suit. "Run, silver. Jump, silver. Kill, silver. Die, silver. A woman chooses. A slave obeys."

"What are you raving about?" Oreo shot Silva in the knee. Blood sprayed everywhere as he collapsed, screaming in agony.

"Cuff him, Keith," she said with a grime smile. "We're leaving."

"Oh…I don't think so," grinned Silva from the floor, his words making blood bubble through his bloody teeth, even though he had been shot in the leg.

Behind Keith, Corporal McKay stepped from the shadows in her silver armor, totting her silver shotgun.

"Drop the gun, you bitch," snarled the Corporal.

"Oh god damn it." Oreo's pistol fell from her fingers. "McKay, don't you get it? He's betrayed _the human race_. I'm almost one hundred percent certain that includes you and everyone you know."

McKay sneered. "The human race? Who said anything about the human race? I just _hate you_."

"WHY?" exploded Oreo. "I HAVEN'T DONE ANYTHING."

"Shall I make a list?" spat McKay. "First you waltzed in and stole the Chief away from me with that cow's rack and whorish attitude, then you had to muscle into the Helljumpers and corrupt my boys, you little whore!"

"I don't buy it," said Oreo, staring at the wall as McKay aimed the shotgun at her back. She backed into the barrel of McKay's shotgun and looked over her shoulder. "If you really want me dead, McKay, if you really want to betray the human race for no good reason and follow this crazy bastard, then shoot me. Look me in the eyes and shoot me."

"Okay," said McKay, and pulled the trigger.

But Oreo was already moving. She pirouetted around, her left tit slapping into the shotgun from the side. The gun was torn from McKay's hands, breaking her fingers. She screamed. Oreo drew her assault rifle in the same motion that she kicked McKay over onto her ass. She kept Silva in her sites as Keith secured McKay with Covenant energy bonds, drawing his plasma pistol to help her cover the room.

"That's enough," she said. "You will come with me, Major Silva, and you will tell the Covenant to call off the attack."

Silva opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment the door opened. For a fraction of a second Oreo swung her gun to aim at it, but it was only Mendoza. He stepped into the room, daisy dukes hastily refastened.

"Hey girl," he said dreamily. "I managed to slip all of them!"

"Oh wow, you actually managed to escape?" exclaimed Oreo. "Good job!"

Mendoza looked at her. "What?"

Then Keith shot him in the head. Mendoza fell over dead, a smoking plasma hole in his face.

" MENDOOOZAAAA!" shouted Oreo, turning as if in a dream to aim at Keith. It was too late; he knocked the gun out of her hand with one hand, then, with the other hand, punched her in the body. She fell over, the wind knocked over at his incredibly surprising strength.

Strength that only….an ALIEN COULD HAVE.

DUN DUN DUN.

Keith's body was shed away like a rubber suit, and from it emerged Kit Fisto the Special Operations elite. She aimed her plasma pistol at Oreo, covering her movements.

"OH MY GOD!" exclaimed Oreo from the floor. She pointed at the female Elite. "You were a woman all along?"

"Sorry Lieutenant," said Fisto. "You're a damn good soldier." She narrowed her eyes. "But so am I." The Spec Ops elite attached more energy bonds to Oreo's wrists.

"You were an alien all along! AGAIN! You bitch!" exclaimed Oreo, straining to get free. She spat into Fisto's eye but the elite ignored it.

"Hey, what about me!" complained McKay. "Untie me. We had a deal!"

"Whatever." Fisto ignored them both and turned towards Silva.

"So. I upheld my part of the bargain," said the Major, grinning smugly at the alien spy.

Fisto nodded. "By now we'll have secured the whole of the butte." She glared at everyone. "Most of the humans will have been exterminated as well, I'm sure. I think we lost some men to Medoza's ass, but other than that there were absolutely zero casualties."

Oreo glanced at Mendoza's smoking body. Mendoza was dead.

And he was _never _coming back

Never.

Really.

I promise.

"So, now for your part," said Silva, rubbing his hands together greedily as he limped over to Fisto. "Like I said, I want it all: a respected Command of Covenant Forces, my own army, my own title, my own ship, my own fleet of ships, my own planet, country, state, religion, star, sun, galaxy and my own harem of green skinned alien bitches."

Kit Fisto looked at him with thorough disgust. "Right. You'll have all that soon enough, human. Right after getting what you…_deserve_." She glanced down at the captive Oreo. "First you and your lackey will help me carry this 'Or-ie-ho' human with us back to the Truth and Reconciliation. We may yet need her."

The Lieutenant hung her head. It was all over. The human resistance on Halo had effectively been crushed and their nearest commanding officer had betrayed them. The only hope they had now for stopping the Covenant from taking over Halo was Captain Keyes and the Chief, whatever the hell they were getting up to.

Oreo felt super emotional womanly defeat tears rolling down her face. She threw her hands up to the ceiling and screamed in frustration and despair.


	16. Chapter 7 1 of 2

The Chief fucking materialized out of the air in the middle of the library, slamming his titanium encased fist straight into the ground that was as hard as diamonds or crystals. The power of his mega fist broke the super hard floor, the walls, and the tall ceiling as huge hard spears of golden light as hot as the center of a star shot from his body from the teleportation. The Chief stood up, a child sized chunk of the floor stuck to his arm like a huge bracelet, but not in a gay way. The Chief flexed his titanium hard muscles, literally warping his MJOLNER armor into a huge invincible metal muscle suit. The titanium hard cords of his muscles rippled down his arm and shattered the metal chunk of the floor that was stuck to his arm, sending deadly shards of pulverized steel everywhere. The Chief's shields flared.

"WHAT IS THIS!" he bellowed, looking down at the puny protection the weakling armor provided. "THE CHIEF NEEDS NO….PROTECTION!"

He flexed his body again, causing the shield generator on his back to explode in a blast of super heated plasma and women's bras. The great warrior dug his own fingers into the green metal breast plate and slowly began to pry open the power suit. The indestructible armor was hard to open and he began to sweat, drops of liquid metal popping out of his skin to roll down his biceps which were the size of bass guitars.

"ARMOR IS FOR COWARDS." With a final effort the Chief tore the SPARTAN armor in half with his arms, leaving only the greaves with their massive codpiece, which was in the shape of a naked woman. His muscles rippled, especially the ones on his neck leading up to the helmet that covered his face.

"RRRRGGHGHGH!" the Chief's war cry caused the visor of the helmet to crack. He

The Chief looked around at the throngs of undeads pressing in on him from all sides, all pathetic and weakly cowardly. "GGRRHRH!" he flexed once more. "I WILL NOT DIGNIFY THESE SWINE TO LOOK UPON THE FACE OF THEIR CONQUEROR!"

The Chief then reached up to his back which was as wide as a coffin and tore his shotgun off his back, where it had been sticking of its own accord. He gripped the shotgun in both hands so hard that it became superheated and turned towards the zombies.

"GGGRAAH!" the zombies started to run away. But they did not get far.

"GO THEN!" screamed the Chief. "GO THEN, SLUTS, AND HIDE BEHIND YOUR MOTHER'S SKIRTS." Then he pulled the trigger so hard all the shells in the gun fired at once. A flaming black wall of shotgun pellets erupted from the muzzle of the shotgun, which exploded, as did the rest of the shotgun from the sheer force of the blast. The trillions of pellets all condensed into one giant bullet that plowed through the mob of zombies, wreaking terror and destruction upon their weak womanly bodies.

"HRRRGGH!" the Chief thrust his gargantuan pelvis back and forth in the motion of a great warrior taking a willing harlot as he watched a swath of rotting blood erupt from the trench of pulverized bodies he had wrought. He looked down at the smoking handle of the shotgun in his hand, all that remained of the puny weapon.

"FEH." The Chief cast aside the handle and it turned into dust. He turned to go, and as he did something materialized out of the air behind him.

Sparks in the shape of skulls cascaded down around the hardcore chrome sphere shape that came into existence in an explosion of fire and flames. It was a skull—the skull of a Cyclops; a grinning skeletal face without a nose and only one eye, a single eye, a terrible blue eye the color of the eye of fate and hate. It glittered with chromatic colorations, crowned with a crown of seventeen horns. From it dripped a constant deluge of smoking silver blood, encased in a sheath of blue flames. It was 343 Guilty Spark.

"SO." Said the Chief, not turning around or looking at the creature that had brought him to this place. "DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DO, ONE EYED-ONE, BRINGING THE CHIEF HERE TO THIS LABYRINTH, AND NOT OF HIS DESIRE AT THAT?"

The silver skull bobbed up and down on an air cushion made of screams, cackling madly. "FOOLISH MORTAL! YOU WOULD CHALLENGE A GOD—A GOD OF _GODS_! IN THIS PLACE I AM THE MASTER, MASTER OF ALL THINGS FAIR AND FOUL!"

"FOOLISH ATHENIAN!" roared the Chief, smashing his fist into the wall which caused the wall to die. "RELEASE ME FROM THIS MADHOUSE, OR I WILL CAST YOU DOWN AS I HAVE A THOUSAND OTHER GODS BEFORE YOU!"

"NAY!" hissed the Accused Flame, slithering through the air like the visible head of an invisible robotic chrome flaming serpent. "NAY, BARBARIAN, YOU WILL DO AS I BID, OR I WILL LEAVE YOU LOCKED WITHIN THIS PLACE TO SUFFER FOR ALL ETERNITY!"

The Chief rounded on the arrogant trawl. "TRECHAROUS SWINE! I AM THE CHIEF! I WILL NOT BE CHAINED BY ANY MAN'S WILL, GOD OR MORTAL EITHER, OR BOTH!"

"FOOL!" retorted Convicted Ember. "LITTLE DO YOU KNOW THAT IT IS THE EQUINOX! THE SHADOWS OF ALL THE PLANETS IN THE UNIVERSE FALL UPON YOU, WHILE I RISE TO MY TRUE POWER!"

"FOUL KNAVE!" The Chief rounded on the false god, again. "I WILL PLAY ALONG FOR NOW, BUT MARK MY WORDS; YOU SHALL PAY FOR YOUR ARROGANCE!"

Damned Hellfire laughed. "HA! HA HA HA! HAHAHAHAH! GET THEE FROM MY SIGHT, MUSCLE BOUND FOOL, AND GO RETRIEVE FROM THE SYGIAN DEPTHES THAT EMERALD BLADE FIVE FARTHINGS LONG THAT DAMNED SOULS KNOW AS…THE INDEX!"

"BAH!" the Chief spat on the ground, his spit punching a hole through is helmet and then through the ground, and into the earth's core. "NO ONE TOYS WITH THE CHIEF. I SHALL LAY RUIN UPON YOU ONE DAY, SOULESS ONE, MARK MY WORDS."

With that he turned from the laughing visage of the hell god and marched into the depths of the labyrinth. As luck would have it, though, he held in his left hand a ball of yarn, with which he was able to unravel as he walked and so form a gigantic trip wire to trip everyone. And it was good.

The Chief plunged his dower hand into his pouch, fishing about for fair flesh to devour for sustenance fit for a god. He produced a pulsating turkey leg that was turgid with cooked blood and bit through his visor into the sweet, sustaining flesh. Blood ran down the rim of his helmet and he let out a grunt of contentment.

"AH! A MEAL FIT FOR A KING!"

"A KING THAT YOU SHALL NEVER BE, CHAMPION OF THE LIGHT!" From the darkness emerged a great beast, made of darkness. The foul Flood phage had corrupted its body into a twisted parody of strength and manhood, and it loped as a beast of the field would lope. The Chief stared into the fell eyes of the creature and his lips peeled back in a snarl.

"FOUL CUNTBUCKLER! WHAT BE THY NAME, SO I MAY KNOW THY NAME BEFORE I STRIKE YOU DOWN?"

The beast held in its hand a massive blade forged from the fused skeletons of a hundred sinners. It raised that blade above its towering head, the tip brushing the darkened ceiling, such was its length.

"THE DEVIL CALLS ME THYRIAXS. BUT YOU MAY CALL ME 'DEATH.'"

"WHAT A COINCIDENCE—" snarled the Chief, baring his bloody teeth which were all canines "THAT IS MY NAME AS WELL!" And then he leapt high into the air.

"HAVE AT THEE!" screamed the beast, black eyes flaring, and it swung the boneblade in arc so mighty and so swifty that it clove the air in half.

"FEH!" The Chief brushed the blade aside, in mid air, as he jumped, and planted both boots into the chest of the rotting creature, sending them both toppling backwards to the ground. The beast snapped forwards with jaws of steel and one of its mighty fangs plunged deep into the Chief's shoulder, piercing through muscle and bone alike. The Chief grunted from the pain and strained against the creature's vice like jaw with both arms and legs, trying to stop its foul maw from snapping shut around him. The stench of a million dying worlds blasted into his face, but the Chief only laughed like a mad man into the mouth of death. Then he strained, and split the creature's lower jaw in half by doing the splits.

The monster screamed, and the Chief wrenched, pulled, and tore one of the long deadly halves of the jaw bone from its socket. His fingers wedged between light saber sharp teeth and he smiled grimly, hauling back and then delivering a palpable blow to the side of the creature's head with its own bone!

THRYRIGIX let out a deafening roar of agony that shook the world. It clutched at the bloody mass of puss where and eye had been, only to be silence when the Chief struck it in the throat, tearing out its throat with its own bone! The mighty warrior jumped and landed hard on the putrid snout of the beast and then brought his weapon down atop its skull, puncturing through its skull and into its brain with its own bone!

"DIE!" The Chief brought the row of deadly teeth down again and again, until the THRYAXGRAHX's brain case split open and its brain, which was made of flaming rats, spilled out and scattered its burning rodent contents all over the floor.

"YOU WILL NEVER ESCAPE THIS PLACE!" gurgled THYRXGRGHXXSAFXX as the last vestiges of its foul life ebbed away out of its pulverized head.

"SUCK ON THIS!" The Chief kicked its head off and walked away.

"HA!" the false chrome god known as three thousand forty thousand three hundred billion Accursed Sun bobbed up beside him, trailing a wake of floating dead people on fire. "THAT CREATURE WAS BUT THE FIRST OF MANY YOU MUST FACE IN YOUR QUEST TO RETRIEVE THE INDEX! DO YOU THINK, PUNY MORTAL, THAT YOU CAN DEFEAT THAT WHICH HAS LAIN HERE FOR CENTURIES!"

The Chief turned to look at him with a gaze made of steel. "THINKING IS FOR THE WEAK-I _KNOW_."

"FOOL!" Spluttered the robotic monstrosity as blood sprayed from its crevices. All of them. "YOU WILL DIE HERE, 'MASTER' CHIEF, AND YOU WILL BE THE MASTER OF NOTHING BUT BONES, WRAPPED IN YOUR OWN REMAINS AND INHALING THE FOUL DECAY OF AGES FOR ALL ETERNITY!"

"YOU TALK TOO MUCH." The Chief backhanded the silver skull across the room. It smashed into a wall, but instantly regained its balance.

"I WILL MAKE YOU PAY FOR THAT A THOUSAND TIMES!"

It zipped away into a nearby ventilation shaft.

A ventilation shaft that gulped down vile breathes of red air, swathed in vaporized blood and the screams of those foolish enough to venture into that den of evil known to only the most select few of the devil's fiends as 'The Library.'

"ENOUGH!" roared the Chief as a wave of necrotic flesh spilled from every other ventilation shaft and rushed towards him, brandishing rusted weapons packed with bullets covered in spikes and mutated limbs weaponized by the devious designs of the Flood.

"WEAKLINGS! YOU WOULD DARE CHALLENGE THE CHIEF!" He swung the deadly, man sized jaw bone and cut down the first dozen combatant forms that lurched forwards. A tsunami of shredded yellow flesh sprayed over his glistening abs.

"I WILL DRINK FROM YOUR SKULLS!" The Chief punched a zombie so hard that it died all over again, and then came back to life and he killed it again. Motherfucker.

The Chief grabbed a chain saw that was on the ground and started it. He swung it like a combat knife, sawing through wave after wave of zombies with a backhand grip, just like a pro knife fighter like Steven Segal would except with a chain saw. Billions of zombies fell to his pro-like skills, and the Chief let out a roar of triumph. He grabbed a roll of duct tape and taped the chainsaw to his head, sticking forwards over his visor, so that wherever he looked everything would die—assuming of course that it was close enough for him to see it. The Chief swung his head left and right, casting his chain saw laser eye beams about the dank chambers of that blood hazed torture gulag known as the Biblioteca. A fluid that was fifty percent liquefied flesh, fifty percent blood, and ten percent fuck went everywhere, covering everything with itself.

"YES!" the Chief threw his arms to the ceiling, caught them on their way down, and then used them like ninja sticks to beat the ever loving shit out of every single flood zombie in the room.

Suddenly a dinosaur flood attacked! It was a T-REX, its once majestic body twisted and deformed by the invasive designs of the foul, corrupting influence of steroid abuse and the flood. Where the tiny T-REX arms used primarily for mid-coital back rubs had once been, now there were equally tiny tentacular appendages used for mid-coital deep tissue massages. Also, two enormous testicular fire sacks hung from its broad chin, full of mighty cumfire ready to spray instant death.

"HEHEHEHEHEHA HA HA HA HA!" roared the T-REX in the voice of acting star and pop culture sensation Bruce Campbell, "CHIEF, YOU MAY HAVE DEFEATED TYRGRHAXGAHRATYRGRAXHARGRAX BUT YOU WILL NEVER DEFEAT ME."

"SILENCE, GIANT SACK LIZARD." The Chief flexed his body, causing the chain saw to pop off his head and fall to the ground, its mechanism too clogged with gelatinous chunks of shredded gore meat to work anymore. The Chief picked up a half loaded assault rifle from the floor, punched into it, and pulled out a handful of bullets.

"FOOLISH HUMAN," laughed the Brucasaurus. "YOU NEED A GUN TO FIRE BULLETS."

"FEH," said the Chief. "I NEED NO BULLETS TO FIRE A GUN!" Then he threw the bullets at the Camballsaurus so hard that they accelerated to seven times the velocity of normal gun bullets and all penetrated the cum fire sack on the dinosaur's head. Hot napalm spewed out of the hole in the sack.

"AAAIEEEE!" screamed the T-REX in the voice of David Sedaris. "THE PAIN-THE PAIN!"

The Chief turned away like he was some pro shit. "I CARE NOT FOR YOUR SENSATIONS."

As the Dinosaur fell the Chief walked on, itching for more combat. A group of Flood barged around the corner and charged him. Among them were, shockingly, hundreds more Campbellsaurs, their massive testicle chins swinging to and fro as the charged on their huge chickensaur feet, caring for naught that they crushed puny flood forms beneath. But above them all stood a creature of magnitifuderence far beyond the pale of normal words. It was composed of a million dead bodies, all fused together to create a single, terrible, fleshy, bony, calciferous arm; billions of other dead bodies were also part of it, and they made up its other arm and both legs. The dead human and alien bodies alike had merged into a single unit, a massive flesh golem without a face, without a nose or eyes or ears—indeed, without a face, but for its massive gaping The Maw that oozed constant pus and gaseous exchanges from the continually hell furnace hot core of its rotted being. It was the size of a house—nay, two houses! The monstrosity raised one club like hand to point at the Master Chief.

He stared back at the demon without a trace of fear. "THIS," STATED THE GREAT WARRIOR "IS AN ABOMINATION THAT MUST BE PURGED." He began to flex his muscles, but that was only the beginning. After he finished flexing his muscles, the Chief pulled a rail road spike from the wall and jammed it into his own chest, making a blood sacrifice to Mars, the God of War.

"OH GREAT MARS!" roared the Chief as the infinite horde approached. The literal wall of zombies toppled over, then restacked, then toppled over, spilling its towering wall of flesh over and over again as an infinite amount of undead foes pressed towards the single man alone.

"OH GREAT MARS I CALL ON YOU IN MY HOUR OF NEED. GIVE ME THE STRENGTH TO CLEANSE THIS ULCER FROM THE UNDERBELLY OF THE EARTH."

The Chief made a fist, punched into his own chest, and pulled out his own heart with the railroad spike in it, raising it high to the heavens as an offering.

Time stopped.

From the very air itself a portal emerged—a portal of screaming mouths, eyes, of souls banished to oblivion forever. A figure clad in bleached white robes and a copper crown strained from the Black Gate, pulling against a hundred maleficent arms that tried to pull him back. The Chief watched the figure struggle.

Men do not need help.

The figure finally collapsed to the ground before him, and yet when it stood it stood with stately precision and grace. The man surveyed the Chief with brilliant eyes, hands folded humbly before him.

"So. Master Chief," said Julius Caesar. "You would make an offering of your heart to our god, Mars?"

"AYE," stated the Chief, squeezing his heart. Some blood came out. "WHAT OBJECTION DO YOU HAVE, MIGHTY CAESAR?" he asked, for he well knew that the only time men ever need to talk to each other is when they disagree.

"I come to offer you a warning, my son," said Caesar sagely. "Listen well: I smote the facile Republic of Rome and in its place imposed the hardcore rule of my iron dick-will. And yet, at the last, I stood alone at the feet of the statue of Pompey Magnus, my arch nemesis and once ally. I died there, surrounded by weak fools, the very power of Rome itself just out of grasp. So I say to you now, The Chief, remember me: though I ruled the world with all the power one could ever have, I was never invincible. Know this as you offer your meat and blood to the God of War. Remember me. Remember me! REMEMBER ME!"

And then Great Caesar's Ghost turned and strode without fear into the black hell mouth, which closed with a crack of thunder and a rushing of sensation as time returned to normal.

The Chief nodded silently to the Ghost of Caesar, wherever he may have been. "I WILL REMEMBER YOU ALWAYS, GREAT MENTOR, FRIEND, AND…FATHER."

Then he cut his own heart in half and threw his arm to the sky, clutching in his fingers the very essence of his life.

The fucking ceiling broke open.

A blood night red sky was revealed, and in its dead center a black moon as black as night hovered. The stars fell out of the sky all around, crashing down through the remnants of the ceiling to clatter to the floor around the Chief's feet. The black moon became bigger, bigger, larger, moving closer and closer. Everyone stared, even the zombies, until the Chief realized what it was.

It was an eye. A great, monospherical eye, the eye of Mars himself. And the red around the eye was not the sky, but the ruddy face of Mars. And the stars that had fallen to earth were his dandruff, which was made of diamonds.

"YOU HAVE CALLED ME, AND I HAVE COME!" came a voice that shook reality itself. "YOU HAVE GIVEN ME YOUR LIFE IN EXCHANGE FOR POWER. KNOW NOW THAT ONCE SUCH A PATH IS TAKEN, IT MAY NEVER BE RECINDED UPON."

"ONLY A WEAK MAN KNOWS," spat the Chief into the eye of the god. "I _DO_."

"**YOU HAVE SPIRIT," chortled the God. "SO BE IT!" There was a flash of light that seemed to wipe away all the shadows that had ever been cast. When the world blinked bleary eyes and looked, the Chief was holding the Spear of Destiny in his hand.**

**He looked down at the weapon, then at his smooth unblemished chest where moments ago there had been a terrible wound. The Chief could no longer feel his heart, and the truth dawned on him.**

**His body was now running on pure testosterone. **

**The Chief held the spear head of the spear of destiny in his hand and turned towards the infinite undead horde. The dim light of the library glinted off the ebony length of the weapon that had killed the Christian God.**

**He pointed at the zombies.**

"**COME THEN. COME TO YOUR DEATHS."**

**They did, their billion footfalls shaking the very earth itself. The maniple of charging Brucesaurs that breathed liquid jizz fire charged too. The Chief growled and swung the Spear of Destiny at them. Something huge and white blossomed from the spear tip, shooting towards the zombies with a righteous fury. It was a Jesus Christ. The son of god shot into the horde at ten thousand miles per hour, spearing one of the Mega Scrotal dinosaurs in the heart. Blood and pus flew everywhere, and as the Chief swung the great black spear again another Jesus erupted from its tip, cutting a swath of destruction through the horde with his holy host.**

**The two Jesus super clones rose from the blood soaked wreckage their holy bodies had wrought and turned to each other. Each was wearing nothing but a loin cloth and two over lapping bandoliers that held nothing but bullets in the shapes of crucifixes. The first Jesus turned to the Chief.**

"**My son," he said solemnly, his flowing brown beard contrasting nicely with his very white, anglo saxon skin stretching over a bulging thirty six pack and pectorals the size of six ounce steaks. "My son…I require a boon of you."**

**The Chief took a knee. "WHAT DO YOU WISH OF ME, WHITE GOD?"**

**Jesus reached into his loin cloth and produced a pair of sunglasses, which he then put on.**

"**Guns," said the first Jesus. "**_**Lots of guns**_**."**

**The Chief nodded wordlessly, because real men speak as few words as possible to each other. He swung the spear in the general direction of the Jesuses, which as well as producing a third Jesus to join them also created an entire gun rack full of weaponry.**

"**Looks like we got ourselves a holy trinity," said the second Jesus to the first Jesus. **

"**You're blessed right," stated the third Jesus, putting on two pairs of sun glasses.**

**He grabbed a crossbow made of the bones of liberals off of the rack**, then removed exactly twelve crucibolts from his bandolier and loaded them into t**he automatic loading clip on the crossbow, which was shaped like the pope's hat. At the same time, the other two Jesuses loaded up; the first Jesus equipped himself with a machine gun that shot razor blade sharp wafers at two thousand rounds per minute. The second Jesus grabbed an enormous papal mace that even he had to wield with both hands. The mace was covered in spikes shaped like the pope's hat.**

"**God bless," growled the first Jesus. "Let's go kill these blessed cocksuckers."**

**They turned as one, one might say in unison, or in other words as a trinity, to face the oncoming zombie horde. The first Jesus aimed and fired his crucibow, sending a single crucibolt towards the zombies. These were no longer ordinary flood zombies, for they had evolved and were now covered in spikes. They were called xombies. **

**The crucibolt, travelling at the speed of 3 wise men combined (faster than light), slammed into the milling throng so hard that it created a crack in their bodies that spread throughout the horde as if it were one body, when in fact the crack somehow spread over all of their bodies. They all split messily in half, spilling their bloody organs everywhere in a huge sloppy eruption. But the crucibolt kept on going; it smashed into a support pillar which was made of titanium and that broke too, sending the entire ceiling crashing down. An enormous pall of dust cascaded from the shattering roof, gigantic chunks of alien masonry falling in shadowed forms inside the cloud of dust. The sound of a giant's bones creaking filled the world as the roof caved in on itself. Chunks of metal smashed through the floor, destabilizing it and making the floor break as well. All three Jesus looked up in surprise as an enormous chunk of ceiling shaped like Richard Dawkins boot fell right on top of them. **

**Then the entire Library collapsed. **

**The Chief found himself falling on a platform that had been torn out of the floor, keeping his footing by jamming the soles of his boots three inches into the platform. He still held the spear of destiny in one hand. **

**The Chief looked around. He was now falling through space, stars and super novas and black holes everywhere. Also there were planets, the planets of our Galaxy, but they were boring in comparison. A laughing sound came from behind him. **

"**NYHE HE HE HE HE. YOU THINK YOU CAN DEFEAT THE GUARDIANS OF THIS LIBRARY, FOOLISH THE CHIEF? BARBARIAN, YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT AWAITS."**

"**FEH." The Chief spat into the void. His spit landed on a water rich planet, and from the microscopic bacteria present in it grew new life, to populate a new race of beings known to some as the Forerunners. That done, he turned to see 343 Damned Gahenna floating there. "YOU AGAIN? THE CHIEF TIRES OF THIS FAÇADE." He cast his hand about the galaxies. "WHAT TRICKERY IS THIS, THEN, OH FALSE GOD?"**

"**NO TRICKERY, FOOL. THE LIBRARY IS NOT MERELY A SERIES OF IDENTICAL HALL WAYS LEADING TO ELEVATORS THAT TAKE YOU TO ALSO IDENTICAL HALL WAYS WHICH TAKE YOU TO MORE ELEVATORS WHICH TAKE YOU TO STILL MORE IDENTICAL HALL ALL OF WHICH TAKE YOU TO ELEVATORS THAT TAKE YOU TO MORE IDENTICAL HALL WAYS WHICH ALSO TAKE YOU TO ELEVATORS THAT TAKE YOU TO YET MORE IDENTICAL HALL WAYS, AS WELL! IT IS ALSO A DIMENSION OF ITS VERY OWN, A POCKET IN TIME AND SPACE FROM WHINCE NO THING MAY ENTER NOR LEAVE. BY DESTROYING THE CORRIDORS OF THE LIBRARY YOU HAVE MERELY RESET THE CYCLE: IN A THOUSAND YEARS, THE FIRST ATOMS OF SULPHURUS CREATION WILL RE-ASSEMBLE. IN TEN THOUSAND YEARS THE GREAT CORRIDORS AND ELEVATORS WILL BEGIN TO BE REALIZED AGAIN, UNTIL THE LABYRINTH THAT YOU SO CASUALLY DESTROYED RISES AGAIN—AND AGAIN, AND AGAIN INTO THE HORRIFIC DARKNESS OF TIME. YOU FACE A LIVING GALAXY, A REALITY THAT KNOWS, THAT BEATS, THAT THIRSTS FOR YOUR BLOOD. NOT EVEN GOD CAN SURPASS THIS PLACE. NOT EVEN THE WEAPON THAT KILLED A GOD CAN DESTROY IT."**

**The Chief looked down at the spear of destiny in his hand and scowled, then tossed it aside. "HEF! YOU'VE MADE YOUR POINT, FALSE GOD. BUT KNOW THIS: I WILL FIND A WAY WHERE GOD FAILED."**

"**I THINK NOT," said the diminutive floating skull, and in a flash he was gone. **

**Then a shadow fell across the platform. The Chief turned, slowly, to face what had arisen behind him.**

**The thing was as large as a planet—larger than most planets, and that was just its torso. Its lower portions disappeared into the blackness of space out of sight of the Chief's position on his platform. Looking up its great expanse of dull, moldy green skin—he thought it was skin, though it looked more like leather—the Chief saw a massive of tentacles, drooping from a furrowed, malevolent countenance as large as a moon. Two yellow eyes that burned with the intensity of a thousand suns glared down upon him, the vast intellect behind them conceiving the Chief as nothing more than a speck of dust, a mot in the air, a bubble in the water. The Chief stared back with defiance in his heart, defiance for this being to whom the word 'defiance' meant nothing, for there was nothing that had every truly mustered the will to even think of defying it, much less actually stand in its way.**

"**IS THIS THE GREAT OLD ONE?" Mused the Chief as he stared up at the vast creature. "THE ONE WHO DOES NOT SLEEP BUT DOES ETERNAL LIE, OR WHATEVER? IS IT THE MASTER OF INSANITY AND FEAR, THE LORD OF CHAOS WITH AN ETERNAL HATRED FOR MAN KIND…IS IT **_**THE FINAL BOSS OF THE INTERNET?**_**"**

**The abomination stared down at him with god like indifference and raised a mighty hand the size of a moon. No creature could ever survive such a blow, the Chief knew, and there was nowhere for him to run stuck on the platform as he was. So the Chief watched as the mighty hand descended, and as he watched he shed his armored trousers and golden codpiece to reveal his mast-like erection, letting his enormous manhood stand proud in the face of death.**

"**BAH!" he yelled up into the face of the Dark God. "MY DEATH ONLY MAKES MY PENIS HARDER."**

**But then, just as the gnarled hand of the mad god fell, an enormous shape erupted in the space between them, swatting aside the Final Boss of the Internet with its enormous spade like tail the size of a star. Yes, it was the giant space whale, and as the Chief watched in amazement the great beast, twice the size of the Final Boss of the Internet, pulled up beside his space platform. Its mighty blowhole inhaled the dust of eons, inhaled asteroids, black holes, and dead planets, and out from its blissfully smiling maw came new life. The Chief stepped atop the broad humpback of the Space Whale and ran to its center, the journey across taking centuries to complete.**

**By the time the Final Boss of the Internet had regained its balance from almost falling over, in space, the Chief stood proud in the center of the massive whale's back. Up ahead the human could see the ocean sized blowhole of the space whale.**

The two Space Gods faced one another; the Final Boss of the Internet staring with molten golden eyes, the Great Space Whale placidly observing with liquid black pools the size of Uranus. The Chief held onto the anachronistically damp hide of the whale and prepared for the battle.

As the Final Boss of the Internet charged again, throwing a punch whose very gravitational pull destroyed Neptun and Saturn out of orbit, the Space Whale reared back and maneuvered with its tail, accidentally hitting mercury into the sun with its tail as it avoided the punch. The mad god's fist sunk deep into the sun itself with an audible plop, in space, and when it pulled the wound free the sun itself imploded its orange juice colored gaseous contents spurting from the rupture like the contents of an enormous orange zit. As the dark god recovered its balance the Space Whale retaliated, charging forwards and swatting the Earth aside as if it were a fly. It opened its great maw (scooping up the moon by accident) and sunk its teeth into the side of the monster. The Chief's footing barely held and he struggled to keep his balance as the whale tore, ripping an enormous chunk out of the Final Boss of the Internet and sending it reeling into the blackness on a trail of brown blood to be sucked into a black hole, causing the black hole to double into infinite size and destroy the entire galaxy.

When the dust settled the Chief found himself still atop the Space Whale, drifting in an endless void. The Final Boss of the Internet was nowhere to be seen.

"_Chief" came the telepathic mind voice of the Space Whale. "In my endless drifting from galaxy to galaxy, from dimension to dimension, from reality to unreality, I passed by and saw your dire plight within this mad labyrinth known as the Library. Not even the infinite mind of the Space Whale can fail to take pity on such a man as accursed as you; your plight falls in the same tragic, hardship ridden boat as that of poor Odysseus. I have come to free you from this torment."_

"**BAH." The Chief crossed his arms with the petulance of an asshole. "I THANK YOU FOR YOUR KINDNESS, SPACE WHALE, BUT A MAN DOES NOT DO. HE **_**IS.**_**"**

"_I'm not sure I follow," said the Space Whale._

"**FEH. IN TRUTH I MAY NOT RETURN IN GOOD CONSCIENCE TO MY REALITY, WITHOUT FIRST BESTING THIS PLACE SO THAT NO POOR SOUL MUST EVER TREAD TWIXT IT AND REALITY AGAIN."**

"_**But," ejaculated the Space Whale, "that great work has already been accomplished. What more is there to do—or rather, to **_**is**_**, in this place?"**_

"NAY, WISE OLD ONE," corrected the Chief, "FOR THERE YET REMAINS ONE LAST FINAL FIEND TO STAND AS THE PENULTIMATE ONLY CLIMATIC ENEMY THAT MUST BE DEFEATED SO THAT THIS TORRID DIMENSION MAY NEVER RETURN TO EXISTENCE."

"_Ah," amended the Eminent Cetacean "I understand your plight, Spartan, but know that I am bound by the Law of Space not to interfere with the machinations of others unless they interfere directly with me, be they false spherical gods or enormous sentient video game levels."_

The Chief knelt down, his massive erection wilted, and laid a hand on the whale's inconsistently moist skin. "I UNDERSTAND, OLDWISE ONE. THEN I MAY ASK NOTHING MORE OF YOU BUT, PERCHANCE, A BOON, TO HELP ME ON, MY WAY."

"_Aye," concurred the Massive Mammal, "That you shall have, and that indeed. Bear my gift well for your final penultimate climactic the end confrontation, for I now bestow upon you a gift. Fair thee well."_

The Chief closed his eyes as light enveloped him. **"MY THANKS…GREAT SPACE WHALE." **When he opened his eyes, he was wearing armor made out of double barreled shotguns and had a sword made from the dicks of his enemies and a shield made of a giant petrified beard. He also had a necklace with a row of tiger claws on it, one from every tiger he had ever killed, with every five meaning he had killed an extra tiger but wasn't counting it because hey, he wasn't in it for the bragging rights.

The found himself in a blank room with only one window, and across from him floated the false spherical god 343 Guilty Spark, facing away to stare out that window. When the Chief turned fully to face him his shotgun armor fired randomly with every motion, and he shrugged to re-pump the chambers welded all over the armor. Spent casings cascaded down everywhere as he walked over to Guilty Spark, who still had not turned to face him.

"So," said the Chief softly, "we meet at last."

"Yes." Guilty Spark turned around. "It was me, all along."

"Ah. So you were the one who—"

"Right again," replied the robot smoothly. "Everything that has brought you to this point was machinated by me."

"Even-?"

"Yes." The blue oculus flared a bright blue color. "Even _that_."

"FEH!" bellowed the Chief, drawing his sword made of dinosaur cocks. "ENOUGH TALK. WE END THIS NOW, FALSE ONE."

Guilty Spark simply stepped aside, allowing the Chief to look through the window. The SPARAN's words cut off mid sentence. Outside he could see the street, people milling everywhere, going about their daily lives happy, contented.

"Don't you see, Chief?" asked Spark. "These people go about their daily lives neither knowing nor caring of what you do for them, or of what I do for them; for you see, without the Library they would not exist. If you kill me, if you recover the blade of ultimate power five farthings long known as the Index, then all these innocent people will cease to exit." He turned to look at the Chief. "Don't you understand, you foolish man animal? The Library is part of all of us now. Even you. No matter how hard you fight its boredom, you will always be bored again; a prison of boredom. Like me."

Guilty Spark hung his head. "Will you destroy so many, even yourself, only to indulge your mortal whims?"

"YOU TALK TOO MUCH." The Chief stabbed him in the face and everything ceased to exist all at once.

The Chief awoke to blackness. In a void of darkness he floated, and as he floated a glittering green dagger five farthings long fell into his hands. He held it there, staring into its depths.

The Chief raised the Index above his head.

"I HAVE THE POWEEEER!"

And then he awoke just as he materialized into the Library from being teleported out of the swamp.

…

…

…

What?

…WHAT?


	17. Chapter 7 2 of 2

**The Library**

**Or**

**The Legend of the Robot Sex Slaves**

"Oh God. What the hell just happened? I think I'm going to be sick."

"I used Halo's transport system to teleport us," said Guilty Spark as he materialized next to the Chief. "The side effects can be…amusing, on lowly fail creatures such as yourself."

The Chief's eyes began to water as the golden light ebbed away. "My blood hurts. Where the hell are we?"

"The Library," said Spark. "Within these giant blue panels on the walls lie thousands, nay, trillions of years of research on the Flood, all recorded by me, designed by me, and carried out by me. Because I am god." The robot began to shake back and forth, vibrating, its voice becoming an insane quail. "I AM A GOD."

"That's an odd thing to say…" mused the Chief. "What do you mean 'research?'"

"Actually it's not really research, but hours upon hours of home made porn recordings of me having sex with my robots."

The Chief was not listening, instead stretching and trying to feel through is armor to make sure all his bits were still there. "That's cool. Did you do any research on teleporters that don't rape my atoms?"

Spark seemed not to hear him. "Hmm, that's odd. My body scan indicates that your penis was lost during the transportation."

The Chief clamped his hands over his groin with a strangled gasp of horror.

"This is not unheard of," continued Spark, "there have been cases of passengers loosing finger nails, moles, hair follicles, and other extremely small parts of their bodies.

"My underwear feels warm," said the Chief. "I think I'm losing blood."

Spark scanned him again. "We have no time for this, meat bag. Fear not; the penile veins that were severed weren't nearly large enough for you to bleed out before clotting occurs."

"Well all right then." The Chief stretched a bit before setting off into the Library at a leisurely jog. "I suppose that's all right then. Nothing erected, nothing gained." He laughed to himself, and then began to cry softly, swallowing his sadness like the passive aggressive cunt he was.

"We must activate the ring," said Guilty Spark, coming to hover along beside him. "To do so we will need to acquire the Index."

"Why? Does the ring somehow destroy the Flood?"

"Close enough," said Spark. "I can definitely tell you that the Ring does not blow up the universe, which is definitely not the only way to starve the Flood."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. I'm glad nobody would ever make up a plan that stupid, let alone try to carry it out." The Chief looked expectantly up at Spark. "I mean, even if the only way to stop the flood was to starve them to death, to wipe the entire galaxy clean of all sentient life, it would be pretty fucking god damn dumb ass retarded to keep specimens of the Flood around on the very weapons you use to destroy them."

Spark shook its head. I mean its body. "An interesting theory, flesh boil, but I'm not telling you what this installation does. Never. Not in a million years—which is coincidentally one trillionth of the time that I have been alone on this ring, alone, alone forever, drowning the dead silence of eons—"

"Whatever," said the Chief, and turned to go. "Fuck you and your 'mysterious ring world.' I'll just kill every single Flood one by one, with my bare hands, until they're all gone."

"What a brilliant plan. I'm sure and your tiny pea-nuts and thistle dick will do just fine." The robot chased after him. "Good luck with that, blood sack!"

The Chief flipped him off.

"Hey fuck you!" roared Spark. "Oh wait—you can't, because you _don't have a dick anymore_!"

"You motherfucker!" exclaimed the Chief, stopping in his tracks and turning back slowly. "Is this…black mail?"

"Yes!" cottoned Spark. "I have your penis in some place safe! One word from me and I'll have my robot slaves destroy it. If you don't help me, your dick is destroyed. You don't activate Halo, your dick is doomed. You try to back out, your dick is dead!"

"Shit." The Chief scratched the back of his neck. "Your brilliant planning has out done me."

"Excellent," chattered Spark as he floated up above his head, proud of himself for manipulating a retard. "And you shall follow me."

The Chief squared his shoulders and thought of what his best friend and mentor Sgt. Johnson would have done in this situation.

"Bitch ain't shit," he muttered.

Spark snickered. "Cute. But just remember, meat wigger: help me blow up the entire universe and everything in it, including you, or I'll destroy your penis."

The Chief nodded reluctantly. "That seems totally logical to me." Then he did a double take. "Wait—what? Is _that _reallywhat Halo does?"

"NO." Spark zoomed off hurriedly into a ventilation shaft. "I have to go now, protein parcel. I'll be back after you kill these zombies."

"What zombies?" asked the Chief out loud as a literal Iran's worth of Flood rained down upon him. He sighed as he was engulfed in yellow flesh. "I wonder if I'll _ever_ find out what Halo _really_ does!"

He had just finished up running away and shooting the Flood until there were none left when some strange, almost bird like robots appeared and began to assist him with their shitty orange lasers. It took about a thousand tries of crisscrossing streams to hit a single infector form, and by then the Chief had dispatched the rest of the zombies and was watching with some bemusement.

"So, what…you guys are like the Forerunner's version of marines?"

Guilty Spark appeared out of a ventilation shaft, humming to himself like an asshole. "Ah, there you are you PUS FILLED OOZING prokaryote. The sentinels will assist you in quelling the infection."

The Chief looked at the wrecks of the five sentinels that had been destroyed fighting the Flood, then at the single Flood corpse their aid had produced.

"Yeah. Thanks a lot."

"You're welcome, unworthy rodent. You might also be interested to know that they are my robot harem," said Spark enthusiastically. "You see, it can get very lonely here after the first million years. I had to devise some means of entertainment, and fabulous robot orgies were my only recourse."

"Wow," said the Chief, looking speculatively at the hovering sentinels. "Too much information, man."

Spark went on talking. "It began as a simple thought. Whilst wandering through these very corridors I spied a young nymph of a Sentinel performing its sanitary duties. I watched her from afar for a time, but day after day my obsessions turned to twisted dreams, midnight sweats, and crazed ravings of her impossible beauty. I obsessively fisted my enormous penis to her image, and when I could masturbate no more I went in search of her. I disguised myself as another Sentinel and snuck up upon her in the bathes, and while her nymphish friends were away I consummated my lust. But it was not enough. One by one, each Sentinel fell to my sexual madness, each more eager to fall than the last, until none remained who I had not soiled with my unruly steel manhood. My life became an unending series of mechanical orgies. For a trillion years I continual had robot-sex with their entire selection of exhaust ports, until one day I grew forever tired of their charms. No longer could I feel pleasure, nor reignite the passion of my obsession. I turned to greater and greater cruelties; the more needless, the more wanton, the more murderous, the better. The metal nymphs became my victims, and I their cruel master, and these halls rang with the sound of screaming metal. Yet in time I grew bored of this too. Sinking into mournfulness and regret, I retreated to within a ventilation shaft for years, ashamed. I spent a thousand years there hoping I would never return. Then one day, the very first Sentinel I had taken came to me in my miasma of sorrow. She comforted me, and together we emerged into the light of day. The tragedy had almost destroyed me, and yet I was now a better man for it. Sitting upon my throne, as my gigantic metal penis was tended by a hundred robot servitors, I pondered on my actions; on the loneliness, the lust, and the madness. In the end I concluded that, even in the direst of straits, man may always retain a shred of dignity—even in the face of his darker nature."

The Chief stared.

"I guess you could say…"

He reached into a pocket and pulled out a pair of sunglasses. "All those orgies were a test of your…"

He put them on over his helmet. "…metal."

"**YEAAAAAAAH!" **screamed a Flood combat form as it emerged from a ventilation shaft. The Chief shot it without looking.

"Enough of this," said Spark. He turned towards the Sentinels. "You two. Let's go to the back."

Two sentinels detached themselves from the group and drifted over to him. They set up shop on either side of the diminutive robot.

"Okay," said the Chief, squinting at them very hard to see if there was any possible way to consider them attractive.

"Let's go," said Spark. He and the sentinels zipped up one of the ventilation shafts. The sound of hardcore heavy metal fucking rang down the shaft (lol.)

"Hey baby, want to see a _real_ hard drive?" squeaked Spark. "You know I need an oil change."

The Chief wanted desperately to shut his ears, but he was busy killing Flood and couldn't get his hands free to staple his ears shut. Or to kill himself.

"Just let me warn you; my RAM tends to get pretty _hot_," came Spark' voice.

The SPARTAN began to smash a human combat form's head against the wall again and again.

"Let me just say, after you've had my hardware you won't go back to software."

He began to scream.

"Let see your female-to-male connector."

"AAAAAH!" the Chief snatched a grenade off his belt, pulled the pin, and threw it at the horde of Flood. BOOM! There was an explosion, instead of nothing as you might have expected there to be if I hadn't described it. Anyways, all the Flood died.

"Wow, fighting the Flood is so much more differenter than fighting the Covenant! Instead of intermittently turning and rolling away in a random direction, they intermittently stop and stare at me creepily. Also they can't aim for shit and to headshot them you shoot them in the chest. I'll have to devise some new stratgeys," said the Chief to himself as he trekked through the shadow corridors, made of literal shadow. "Maybe, like…_walking backwards_." He stopped. "No—no, that's just _stupid_. Stupid Chief, why would you ever think of that. _Stupid. _Shut up."

Spark reappeared from one of the vents, humming contentedly to himself.

The Chief crossed his arms. "Oh hey there robo-Caligula. Back from the royal bordello?"

"SILENCE, bloatfly!" screamed the robot. Then it looked over the Chief's shoulder and stopped.

The Chief turned. In a small alcove, hidden by shadow, was the mangled and almost unrecognizable corpse of a marine.

"Ah yes," said Spark. "The _other_ reclaimer. His meatskin proved 100% percent less effective than yours."

"Damn, he got this far? Without giving up and killing himself from boredom?" murmured the Chief. "He must have been one hell of a bad ass." He knelt down by the corpse and retrieved a set of blood coated dog tags. Something on the marine's helmet caught his eye: three tiny chalk marks in a row.

The SPARTAN whistled in awe. "Well I'll be damned. He must have taken at least three of the bastards with him."

He stood up solemnly. "Spark, can I get some bag pipes?"

Guilty Spark simply stared at him.

"Lay me dun," intoned the Chief. "In this lame lame place. Where afore...many bored men have gun. Nevar moor shall I see tae sun. For I had…to play the library agun. Lay me dun, I'll nae be entertained."

"Shut up."

The Chief cleared his throat. "Sorry. I'm just reflecting on how _real _shit has gotten in the past few hours."

"Oh, why don't you tell me about it," said Spark as he left.

"If you really want to know," said the Chief to nobody. He set off again into the next labyrinthine chamber which looked suspiciously exactly like the one before. "In the past few hours everybody I've ever known has died and is never coming back. That's just how real this has gotten."

In a dank cell on the Truth and Reconciliation, Lieutenant Oreo awoke in a cold sweat, as if someone, somewhere, had just s said the most factually wrong thing ever said in the entire history of the universe.

The Chief continued talking as if he did not sense this disturbance in the farce. "And to make matters worse, Cortana is stuck up in the Control Room and Oreo is stuck with those Helljumper pousers." Nobody noticed that he had contradicted himself less than a second after his first statement. This was mostly because there was nobody else there, but the Chief, and thus nobody there smart enough to tell—though a passing dust mot did get an inkling that the human had said something wrong.

"For the first time I'm worried that we might not actually win this battle," continued the Chief. He sighed heavily. "I suppose my only hope now rests on getting this index thing and using it to activate Halo, and just praying that it does what I need it to. Otherwise we're all completely fucked. I'll just give up and shoot myself in the head or something, if the index doesn't work-seriously. What a fucking boner of a day."

He looked down at his crotch.

"Oh, and apparently my dick was disintegrated or something." As the Chief was talking Spark reemerged from a vent. He didn't notice. "God, what kind of person steals a man's dick? He's probably using it to pleasure his robo-whores right now. What a suck fucking asshole. And who the fuck makes a robot shaped like a ball, and then gives it such a gay voice? He probably floats aloft on a field of gayness. And I bet his penis isn't even that oversized."

"I see the quality of trash talk has gone down quite a bit in the last few millennia," snapped Spark as he zipped up behind the Chief. The SPARTAN turned to face him.

"Oh it's you. I was just talking about my friend um, Petitiant…Tangent." The Chief coughed quietly as Spark stared at him. "Are we almost there yet? I don't think I can stand—"

"We've almost completed the first floor," said Spark curtly. "We are nearing the index."

The Chief felt a sinking feeling in his gut. "…first floor? How many floors are there?"

Guilty Spark's oculus flared a bright blue. "_Seven._"

The Chief stared for a moment, as if not quite understanding the construct's words.

"Seven? But…but…which floor is the index on?"

The lights dimmed ominously as Spark turned to stare at him, blue eye glowing eerily. "The…_seventh._"

The Chief promptly slammed the muzzle of his shotgun into his own visor and pulled the trigger, sending an undisclosed amount of buckshot straight into his own mouth. Fortunately, his shielding was still working. He looked up at the ceiling as it recharged.

"God...what did I do to deserve this," he whispered, quiet, like an innocent child. The Chief slowly lowered himself to his knees and began to pray as the robot watched passionlessly, wondering why the human was talking about him but acting like he wasn't there.

"God. I know I've refused to acknowledge your hand in my life, not since my family, my wife, and my partner were all killed in freak bungie—I mean, bungee jumping accident, while I was simultaneously was diagnosed with Cancerous AIDS Infertility Syndrome; but if you're out there, this is the time I need you. Please…please God, fucking kill me."

"None of those things happened," said the Cortana shotgun strapped to the Chief's back.

"SHUT UP!" screeched the Chief over his shoulder. "I'M TRYING TO HAVE A MOMENT HERE."

"And I thought I was crazy," said Spark to himself, right before a rim shot played and he left the Chief to be attacked by the entire cast of _Dawn of the Dead._

The Chief raised his rifle against the shambling horrors. "You want some of this you bastards? You sons of dogs. You sonsa FEMALE DOGS. YOU SONSA BITCH—"

At that moment a large rotting cock smacked into his face, leaving a slimy yellow print not unlike a sloppy lipstick kiss. Except it was not in the shape of lips but rather the shape of a cock. The Chief fell over backwards, rigid like a board from the shock of the cock. "Ah!" He rolled on the ground, flopping like a fish as he tried to wipe the print away without actually touching it with any part of his body. He sat up groggily and found himself surrounded by a horde of zombies, all of whom seemed to be a bit sheepish for some reason.

The Chief cast about angrily. "Okay…which one of you slimy motherfuckers did that?"

None of the shambling horrors responded. The human gritted his teeth, pulled out a pistol, and pointed it at a flood carrier form. "Okay—if that's how you want to play it, then fine. If the son of a bitch who did that doesn't come forwards," he shook the gun at the diminutive, bloated alien, "then this little bastard gets it." He glared. "Do you get me?'

The zombies looked at each other nervously.

"You think I won't do it?" snarled the Chief. "You think I won't fucking DO it?" He flicked his gun off to the side and shot a random combat form in the head, not harming it at all since it was a SPACE ZOMBIE.

"Think I wouldn't fucking shoot a kid?" rasped the deranged SPARTAN. He shoved the pistol's barrel at the poor little flug. "I'll do it man! I'll fucking do it!"

"Hold on there son," said one of the zombies as it emerged from the crowd, holding a microphone in its hand. This zombie had once been an Elite, and unlike the others its neck had not been broken, nor had its head been flirtishly tossed over one shoulder like a yellow winter scarf. The combat form reached out a gnarled hand for the Chief and spoke in the dulcet tones of Morgan Freeman.

"The fuck do you want!" shouted the Chief hysterically, grabbing the 'child' and pulling it to him. The barrel of the gun bit into the side of the undead grunt's bloated, infested head.

"Just calm down," said the combat form as the other Flood gasped in surprise and worry. "You got family, son?"

The Chief shook his head.

"Girlfriend?"

He nodded, looking around nervously.

"Do you love her?" asked the Morgan Freeman zombie.

The Chief nodded, then shook himself. "What the fuck is it to you, huh?"

"Hold on there, son." The zombie considered him. "I've got a family too, son. So does everyone else here. And if you pull that trigger and make that poor little carrier form blow, ain't none of us going home to our families again, son. Can you make that decision, son?"

The Chief gritted his teeth, finger tightening on the trigger. "I…I…FUCK!" The gun's barrel dropped away. He pushed the carrier form into the crowd.

"Good, good, now take it easy, son," said the Flood form. "Everything's going to be all right."

"No," said the Chief, staring at him with pain and despair in his visor. He raised the gun. "Nothing's ever going to be all right again."

"DON'T YOU DO IT SON!" screamed the Morgan Freeman zombie in slow motion as he leapt forwards to try and stop the Chief from shooting himself in the head.

A shot rang out into the musty air of the Library.

The Flood Carrier form exploded from the high explosive round the Chief had planted in its center of mass, flattening every single Flood in a fifty foot radius as well as the infector forms inside its own chest. The Chief, covered in yellow pus blood, was the only one left standing. He walked over to the dying Morgan Freeman zombie.

"When you get to hell," grated the Chief, shoving his pistol in the squirming flood's face, "TELL THEM I SENT YOU."

The zombie's rotted brains splattered all over the floor, along with a hand full of brown bone splinters.

"Wow, an unnecessarily violent solution to your problems," said the Cortana shotgun. "What a surprise."

"Hah. I guess you could say…"

The Chief straightened up, pulling a pair of sunglasses out of his pocket.

"I have to work on my…"

He put on the sunglasses over his visor.

"Negotiating skills."

"YEAAAAAH!" screamed Guilty Spark from within one of the vents just as he had a massive orgasm from thirteen sentinels all performing fellatio on him at once.

"Was that supposed to be a joke?" asked 12 gauge Cortana.

"Shut up, your vagina is as deep as a rifle barrel. And as wide as a buckshot chamber." The Chief stalked off into the depths of the library. Sure enough he came across a very large elevator platform.

"This must be the elevator Spark was talking about," said the Chief to nobody. He stared at the platform. "I guess I have a choice…get on that elevator and wait until the end of time for it to finish, then go spend the rest of eternity battling my way through what I'm beginning to suspect is hell…or spend a slightly shorter eternity just standing here doing nothing until I die."

Spark floated out of a vent and bobbed merrily up to the Chief, who stared at him.

"What are you waiting for human?" asked the floating light bulb.

Well, he wasn't really a light bulb; light bulbs don't look like metal soccer balls that have been smashed in with a hammer, had Legos glued all over them, and then had a shitty made-in-Taiwan LED taped onto their front. Of course, Guilty Spark didn't look like either of these things. He looked like a robot, about the general size and shape of a basketball, not a soccer ball.

A basketball with a giant metal cock hanging out.

The Chief continued to stare, eyes travelling up and down the considerable length of robot's probe. It did not seem to notice. "So, Spark…you do know stores are supposed to be closed at this hour, right? Maybe you should…"

He removed his sun glasses, then put them back on.

"Close up shop."

"YEAAAAH!" screamed a flood combat form as it dropped down the elevator shaft and attacked. The Chief shot it dead.

"Or maybe," he said, turning back to Spark, "You need to watch out for crime in this area. I've heard that something that really helps prevent robbery is…"

He took off his sunglasses, then put them on again, then took them off.

"To close your front door." He put the sunglasses back on, faltered, and swore under his breath.

"Yeah, that's enough of that." Guilty Spark zapped the sunglasses out of the Chief's hand with his laser grabber. The Chief yelped and tried to suck the stinging sensation off his fingers, but couldn't because he was wearing a helmet, and as we all know by now wearing a helmet all the time means that your mouth gets dry so you can't create enough saliva to suck anything off your fingers, least of all the electrical signals being sent from your nerves to your skin. I mean, that's just stupid. The Chief really is stupid.

"I want to go on the elevator now," said the Chief decisively. "I think that any more of this will drive me insane." He was still staring at Spark's cock.

"You choose wisely, puny flesh failure." Spark followed the Chief onto the elevator, his big dick swinging past his knees. Big dick playa. Big dick baby.

Tropic Thunder is the best movie ever made and if you don't like it you are literally gay.

The Chief got on the elevator and it went up. But wait, there's more: it was boring! Finally, after a very long amount of time, he got to the second floor and was attacked by even more zombies, again!

Do you see why I put off writing this chapter for so long?

Once those zombies were dead the Chief fucked off into the depths of the facility. "Oh wow," he said, looking around at all the walls which were exactly the same. "I am seriously beginning to doubt God's existence."

"How?" Guilty Spark floated up next to him. "I'm right here."

"No, Chief, it's like this," said Shotty Cortana helpfully. "Part of The Hero's journey is to descend into the underworld and retrieve The Boon, a concept that he takes back to the world as a gift to his people. In this case the underworld is the library and the index is the boon; a collection of knowledge as well as the ultimate power of Halo."

"Fuck you," said the Chief. "This is boring as shit."

_And elsewhere…_

Cercil swiveled in his giant pink and purple executive power chair, with a huge horned back and a built in massage giver. He steepled his fingers and look around at the other occupants of the Truth and Reconciliation's bridge from his position on the big platform in the center of the room.

"Data," he said, turning to Oz, "give me a reading on this unidentified 'halo' artifact."

Oz rubbed the wedge shaped top of his helmet. "For the last time, I am not Data. You are not Picard."

Cercil talked over him. "Captains log, star date 90210: the discovery of a strange anus like installation in quadrant 0-R-1f-c seems to have triggered an enormous bout of amnesia among the crew. I plan to land the Enterprise and investigate."

"We're already landed," pointed out Commander Darren. "And they never land the enterprise, it's like as big as a continent."

Cercil glared at him. "Shut up Wesley."

Darren turned to Eric, who was fiddling with a nearby holographic control panel. "God damn it, I knew this would happen; he's gone mad with power!"

Eric shrugged sulkily. "Maybe you shouldn't give your job to insane mutated deserters for no reason."

"Oh come on, you know we've already lost. I mean, zombies? Who saw that coming." Darren placed a hand on his back. "I'll make it up to you later, okay?" He winked.

Eric huffed and turned back to the panel. Darren looked up to see that Cercil was watching them, staring down from the platform. The would-be Super Duper Supreme Commander addressed Eric. "Why, Mrs. Deanna Troi, I had no idea you were a slutty bird midget who takes it in the pooper."

Eric was about to retort when there was a chime from a nearby bulkhead, where the entrance to the bridge was guarded by two very confused and nervous looking Elites.

"Wesley!" chirped Cercil, glaring at the door suspiciously. "Who is that?"

Darren rolled his eyes. "Must be the prisoners from our operation at the Butte." As he spoke he keyed open the door and Kit Fisto came inside, three humans following behind her and backed up by more elites.

Cercil stared at Kit Fisto for a second, then scooted his giant executive power chair over to the edge of the platform again and hissed down at Darren, "Hey, Wesley! I didn't know that we had girls!"

Darren stared up at him in amazement. "What? I don't understand. How could you not know that?"

Cercil considered that. "I'm not sure. Huh." He turned away. "Well, carry on, Mr. Crusher." Cercil slid the chair across the smooth purple platform with mincing little foot motions until he came to the edge, very near to sliding down the ramp all together. He looked down at the prisoners and their warden, grinning at Kit Fisto as she looked from him to Darren in confusion.

"Ah," he said, "I'm glad to see you made it aboard. Worf."

"Who the hell are you?" asked Kit Fisto irritably. "Commander, why has a deformed hobo taken the Commander's Platform of Mauveness?"

"Ah, Kit Fisto," said Darren, ambling towards her and ignoring her question. "I only received word that you had boarded a few minutes ago, how did you get here so fast?"

"I took the short cut through the bathroom," she said curtly as Cercil stared at them both. "I'm serious sir, who the hell is that? And why does he have a shark's mouth?"

"Just play along," whispered Darren. "This whole operation has gone to hell, and this asshole will take the fall for all of us!"

"I really don't think that's going to work, sir," said Fisto.

Darren patted her on the shoulder. "Don't worry; I'll take care of everything. Now go." He winked reassuringly.

Fisto shrugged and walked half way up the Great Maroon Ramp. Cercil looked at her expectantly. "Come then, Worf, let's have your report."

She looked around. "Who? Are you talking to me?"

"I don't see any other extremely masculine Klingons around here," said Cercil, looking past Fisto and directly at Corporal McKay, who was one of those brought in by her.

"He thinks he's Captain Picard," supplied Oz to Fisto helpfully.

Fisto waved this away. "Whatever. Sir," she gave Darren a dirty look, "these are the captives we retrieved from the Butte."

"Hmm. Let's see them, then." With a small cry of delight, Cercil rolled his huge purple executive power chair down the ramp at top speed. Fisto caught it by the arm rests easily and the chair came to a full stop.

"Wow, you just ruined the most child like, innocent fun I've ever had in my entire life," said Cercil to her. He frowned. "I recognize you. You're the transsexual spy who pretends to be a black man."

Fisto crossed her arms belligerently. "My name is Kit Fisto. Yours, 'sir?'"

"Let's stay formal, Klit Shitso, you can call me Cercil," said the purple elite amiably as he scooted his chair over to the row of Prisoners. He came level with Major Silva.

"Ah, Maywhore Sillvout." He looked the white haired major up and down. "Tell me, how is this working out for your retirement plan, you old gray bearded cum fart colored piece of white-dry shit?"

Silva narrowed his silver eyes, glaring at Cercil and everyone else in the room. "I was promised a handsome reward, Covenants. You're beginning to test my patience."

"Whatever, piss ant." Cercil wheeled his chair right past and came up to Corporal McKay. "Ah, Cuntrawl McTranny. Tell me, how does betraying the human race because no one would ever pork that spinachy, half-inside out dick of yours feel?"

"Fuck you," said McKay, standing up straight and fingering her silver shot gun. "My reasons are my own, not for some bug fuck crazy bastard to shit on."

"Aw. You just haven't had the right dick in you yet, I can tell," said Cercil, patting her on the shoulder. He leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, "Tell you what, I'll go see if I can find a nice grunt to send to your new quarters in the brig, later." Not waiting for a reply, he waved a hand dismissively at her and Silva. "Data, take these two butt sluts to the brig."

Oz nodded and stomped forwards with an apologetic expression on his tiny face, hidden by the flat hunter's helmet. Silva glared at him and then at Cercil in outrage.

"You alien bastard!" he turned and pointed at Darren. "We had a DEAL!"

Darren shrugged." Whatever, human. Take it up with Captain Picard here, he's totally one hundred percent in charge now."

Silva rounded on Cercil. "This purple shit!" frothed the Major. He stepped up to Cercil, eyes blazing with insane megalomaniacal rage. "Just who the hell do you think you are, with that ridiculous amputated face of yours and that stupid fucking mouth and those runny, cherry jello eyes! Your eyes are like two raw cunts and your mouth is a fucking asshole—you stink like fucking death warmed over. You think you can come in here and just say the word and have me—ME put into the brig? You think you can lay your filthy hands on me for even one second and judge me with that sputtering, sperging mouth in front of all these people? You're one of those dumb bastards who thinks you can win any argument by spewing constant profanity and nonsensical, irrelevant insults, huh? Well how does it feel to be a deformed nut case who has to stuff a fucking butt plug in his skull just to keep is half retarded thought processes from dribbling out. You asshole, you think you own me? You don't own shit. You don't own shit on me, or anyone else on Halo, you little bitch. Now go haul your furry ass into the same scummy corner of the kiddy pool you crawled out of and stop bothering the rest of us adults with your inane shock value jokes and one dimensional character."

"Oh yeah?" Cercil stood up in his chair, his face purple with rage. Everyone on the bridge was watching the argument with baited breath. "Well, guess what! You're mom called! She said you just couldn't _cut it_!"

"What?" Major Silva just blinked at him. "That doesn't—"

With a flash of light and a casual flick of the wrist, Cercil cut Major Silva's head off with a plasma sword.

"YOU SONSA BITCHES!" Corporal McKay let out an articulate scream of rage and strained to attack Cercil, but Oz held her back and began to drag her firmly out of the room. Cercil caught Silva's neatly severed head in one hand as it completed its graceful arc through the air. The wound pulsed a waning flow of silver blood from the stump, pooling onto his large hand. Cercil shook the head up and down. The slack jaw flopped open and closed with the motion.

He spoke in a tiny puppet voice out of the corner of his mouth as everyone watched in morbid fascination. _"_You know what you look like to me, with your purple armor and your plasma grenades? You look like a rookie. A well scrubbed, hustling rookie with a little taste. Good nutrition's given you some length of plasma, but you're not more than one generation from poor heretic trash, are you, Agent Starling? And that accent you've tried so desperately to shed: pure West Halo. What is your father, dear? Is he a Veteran? Does he stink of the plasma? You know how quickly the Flood found you... all those tedious sticky infections in the back seats of wraiths... while you could only dream of multi killing... getting anywhere... getting all the way to the Covenant."

Then Cercil dropped the head over his shoulder and back-punted it to roll a few dozen feet away, squelching and oozing blood from various damages, including the huge hole. With that the purple elite plopped back down into his chair and wheeled over to the final prisoner, who had been despondent and quiet throughout the whole ordeal. The rest of the crew turned nervously back to their duties, except for Darren, who was slowly banging his head against a wall.

"Now, now, who have we he—" Cercil's words died in his scarred throat when he saw Lieutenant Oreo standing there, looking dejected, dried tears and mascara running down her bruised face. She glared at him defiantly through long, delicate lashes.

"Oh my god," mumbled Cercil, shaking his head. "You have the most magnificent, enormous, round, pliable, succulent, beautiful eyes!" He stood up and spread his arms wide. "My dear Lieutenant Oreo. So _nice_ of you that you could _join_ us for our little _party_." He chuckled to himself at his ability to evilly italicize. "Tell me, what do you think of my capitol ship? I have renamed her, ironically…_The Verisimilitude and Agreement._" Cercil's eyes drifted down to Oreo's chest. "She sports two huge, heavy caliber guns capable of firing enormous wads of plasma just…everywhere...tits—I mean, it's a knobs—I mean, known fact that our C-cup—I mean, Covenant plasma technology is not round—I mean, bound, by the petty pliable—I mean, projectile weapon designs you humans use." He paused, then added helpfully, "Boobs."

"Oh wow. Did you work on that one all day?" asked Oreo sarcastically.

"Which?" asked Cercil, "The joke or the enormous orgasm I just had?"

Oreo looked faintly ill. "…The joke."

"No, I stole it," said Cercil proudly. He grabbed Oreo by the hand and led her away. Oreo tore her hand away and wiped it on her pant leg, but had no choice other than to follow Cercil lest he grab it again. His hand was covered in blood from where he had grabbed Silva's neck stump.

"Up here on the Purple Platform, I control everything that goes on in this ship. Pretty impressive, huh?" Cercil looked expectantly at her.

Oreo just stared at him.

"Also, everyone here is my bitch," he continued, getting in close and whispering into Oreo's ear in the sensuous tones of Jack Nicholson."Even that Darren fag ,who thinks he's going to dump all the blame for this on me, follows my orders. But little does he know that I am going to kill him, and everyone else who crosses me on this god forsaken ring. Especially the Chief." Cercil reached up to stroke Oreo's cheek. "And especially you. And then I will steal your eyes."

"Are you trying to seduce me?" asked Oreo, pulling back and pinching her nose. "Because one, that's disgusting; two, you're doing it wrong; and three, NO."

Cercil spun away from her. "YOU WOULD DENY ME! It looks like it's time for my Villain Song!" He turned from Oreo as all the lights in the room went off and a single spot light fell on him, a dimmer blue one also falling on Oreo. Awesome symphonic music began to play softly with increasing intensity as Cercil opened his shark mouth to sing.

(_Sung to the tune of Hellfire, from Disney's the Hunchback of Notredame)_

_Big Tat-Tas Oreoa__  
__You know I am a sickly fuck_

_Of my fuckery I am rightly proud_

_Big Ta Tas Oreo__  
__You know I'm so much awesomer than__  
__The glue sniffing, retarded, limp dicked Master Chief_

_Then tell me, Oreo__  
__Why I see your giant bra__  
__Why your giant udders still scorch my brain_

_I see you, I fap to you__  
__Halo's sun caught in your raven hair__  
__Is arousing me out of all control_

_Like a cow__  
Holstein cow._

_This cow so full of win_

_These jiggling_

_Bazookas_

_Are turning me to_

_Fappin'_

_But though I fapped_

_I never came_

_You are the Holstein bitch__  
__The hoe to whom I never came_

_But though I fapped_

_It's in my plan__  
_

_To kill you and then prove I am a maaan!_

_Put on this one piece, Oreo__  
__Together we can rule this world, and hell!_

_And help me rape Commander Darren's corpse!__  
__Fuck the Chief__  
__And dance the chicken dance for me while covered in blood!__  
__Or else just send me milk and milk alone_

_Holstein cow__  
Cow slut  
__Now Lieutenant, now's the time__  
__Choose me or__  
__The Chieeeef__  
__Be mine or I will never coome__  
_

_Bagels __have mercy on you_

_Bagels have mercy on me_

_But you will be mine__  
__Or I will burn! _

_MY COCK WITH A MATCH BOOOOOOK!_

_UNTIL I REACH SEXUAL RELEASE!_

The Chief awoke abruptly from the terrible nightmare that had actually happened because he and Cercil can see through each other's eyes hmm I wonder what that means and found himself lying on top of a very old, stained mattress in a dank corner of the library. He had stubble, and around him were piles of trash; dirty, used toilet paper, tooth brushes, cups full of change, bottles with bags wrapped around them and bags with bottles taped to them, cheesy blankets, and dead rats. The smell of an unwashed body rose from the pile and the Chief realized that it was him.

Groggily, he got up, still clutching a half full bottle of vodka in one hand. He pressed the end of the bottle to his visor and tilted back, spilling vodka over his face plate. He peeled a reeking blanket off himself with one shaking hand and stood up, staring around at the dark, musty library. A few dozen flood corpses littered the area nearby, the consequence of a recent attack on his camp.

"Gah…How long have I been here?" he pondered, staring down at the watch he did not have. He had been making agonizingly slow progress ever since his break down upon reaching the second level. That progress had slowed to almost nothing—and then _the drinking had started_. The drink made the pain go away. He would have used drugs too, only there was nowhere to get them; after all, where could one find drugs in ancient alien ruins? No, the bottle was all he had.

The Chief tossed the empty vodka bottle aside and began searching his nest of belongings for more bottles. He found a seventh of a scotch and took it gratefully, downing all of it in one gulp and starting to pack up his meager belongings in a large red bandana.

"Ah, meatbag. Making any progress today?"

The Chief did not turn to face his tormentor as he unzipped his pants and began to pee out of the hollowed out ball point pen he had inserted into his urethra. It was infected, of course, his pee burning like liquid fire as it exited. "Go to hell, Spark," growled the Chief in a voice he had not used for a long time.

"I plan on never dying, Chief," chuckled Spark darkly as three Sentinels massaged his power cable.

The Chief harrumphed and set off with his meager belongings hoisted over his shoulder on the shotgun's muzzle, his other hand grasping a pistol loosely. As he walked through the shadowed corridors with long, dragging steps, the Chief aimed his gun without looking and snap-shotted various flood forms as they shambled out of the darkness towards him. Guilty Spark followed along behind.

"Tell me," said the Chief, "what does Halo really do?"

Spark chuckled. "That same old question, after twelve years? Come now, Chief. Do you think I would give up the fact that Halo destroys the universe that easily?""

"Fine. Keep your secrets." The Chief shot a carrier form and it exploded. He didn't even seem to notice, reloading absently with one hand. He burped and pressed the lip of an empty bottle to his visor, draining the last dregs. He made a little distressed moan.

"Are your meat parts beginning to rot, manflesh?" mused Spark.

"No," snapped the Chief. "I need more booze—good stuff too. None of that cheap Covenant shit either." He stumbled and almost fell, head lolling from side to side. "Oh god…I think I'm going to be sick."

Spark stared at him with one baleful cyan eye. "I find it interesting that you are inebriated despite the fact that you have simply been pouring the spirits onto your helmet's face plate and not imbibing a single drop of alcohol, or anything else for that matter, this entire time."

The Chief threw the bottle at him. Spark dodged it easily. "You should hurry Reclaimer; we have almost reached the Index!"

"You've been saying that for the past twenty years," replied the Chief. He looked around worriedly. "I hope the others are all right up there."

"Time moves slower down here," said Spark. "In hell. I mean, in the Library. And I'm serious this time, you really are close to the Index." He winked, even though he had one eye to begin with. Somehow.

"God damn I hate you so much. I want to shove a laser cannon up your ass, charge it up for ten seconds, and then blow you to hell."

"Go ahead and try," said Spark. "My face _is_ a laser cannon."

The Chief stopped and stared at him. "What…? You have a fucking _laser gun?_ This _WHOLE_ time! _AND YOU HAVEN'T USED IT ON THIS FUCKING ABOMINABLE ARMY OF FLOOD A SINGLE GOD DAMN TME!_"

"No," said Spark placidly. "I prefer to watch you suffer."

"_WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU! ARGH!" _The Chief threw his bundle of stinky rags at Spark, who dodged them, and then stomped off down the corridor grumbling under his breath.

"No, I'm serious," said Spark as he chased after the Chief. "We really are getting very close to the index. In fact it's just around this corner."

They neared one of the large doors. It was closed, and there was only a small hole in its center.

"Right after I do something. Over here." Spark zipped through this aperture and disappeared. "Have fun!"

"Oh wow," said the Chief as he aimed his gun at a nearby ventilation shaft. "I wonder what will happen next."

Something moved within the ventilation shaft…something terrible, shambling, rotting, and horrible, and the Chief shot bullets into the hole until nothing moved in there anymore. In a few seconds the large door began to open and he proceeded on, shoulders slumping. He walked a few feet but stopped almost instantly. The energy seemed to drain out of him like a sift, sifting the energy out of him. He fell to his hands and then to his knees.

"Oh Master Chief," whistled Spark. "You should really keep going. The Index is just a few yards away."

"I can't. I can't do this anymore. I give up. You win, Spark." The Chief looked up at Spark, tears springing from the lip of his visor. "_You win_." He slumped lower onto the ground.

"No, I'm serious," said Spark flatly. "The Index is right there."

"I can't go on. I can't take any more of this. I give up. I've failed. The world is doomed."

"It's like, right there in front of you," said Spark, bobbing up and down above the Chief's prone form.

"Tell Oreo…" the Chief sunk down until his body was flush with the floor. "Tell Oreo I'm sorry I couldn't be…_an hero!_" He let out a croak and then collapsed completely, lying still on the ground as if dead.

"Could you get the index before you die, meatbag" insisted Spark. "I need it to set us up the bomb. I mean to save the world."

The Chief croaked out something unintelligible.

"Okay, fine," sighed Spark. "The index is literally five feet in front of you. I'm serious this time. Just stand up and grab it, and we can be on our way.

"Nuh-uh," said the Chief into the floor.

"Oh, fuck you." Spark left. The Chief was alone on the floor. Some time past but then he heard a voice.

"Chief! Chief, wake up!"

He groggily opened his eyes. "I..who's there?"

"It's me! Shotana!" came a voice from over his shoulder.

The Chief rolled over with a mighty effort and looked around. "What?" All the booze must have gone to his head.

"Shotgun Cortana, buddy! Listen: you've got to get up and get that index!"

The Chief shook his head. "No way can you be real: Cortana is never that nice."

"Who cares if I'm real?" snorted the shotgun as the Chief pulled it off his back and cradled it. He looked down into its muzzle, finger inching towards the trigger.

"You've got to do this," said the shotgun gravely. "If you don't, Cercil will kill Oreo!"

The Chief groaned. "No, no that had to have been just a dream. There's no way I could really be seeing through that madman's eyes while I sleep!"

"You know it's not fake, Chief," insisted the shotgun gently, "not like how you pretend to have been born with a penis."

"My god…" said the Chief. "Not even Cortana knows that I was born a hermaphrodite."

"I'm as real as you are, Chief," said Shotana. "I mean, because I am you. Talking to yourself. Because you're mentally ill."

"Yeah well." The Chief sighed. "I can't do it, Shotana. Oreo will have to fend for herself. I'm just too weak to continue on."

"Don't give me that. I know you, Chief. Deep down inside of you—past the ugliness and the dick jokes and the bigotry and the you are an idiot there's _good_ in you Chief."

"How do you know."

"Because _you _know. Because you _love_ Oreo."

"How do you know I know I love Oreo?" asked the Chief, staring into the barrel.

The shotgun sighed. "Isn't it obvious, Chief? You know what happens to Marines around you. They die, Chief, usually because of you. Except for Oreo. Haven't you ever wondered why that is?"

"I…"

"It's because you care about her, Chief. On some level even you don't understand. And that's the reason you will get up, and grab that index, and go save the galaxy!"

"You're right! Five miles or five hundred miles, I'll reclaim that index! I'll save Oreo!" The Chief stood up slowly and cracked his neck, then turned around.

The Index was floating five feet away from him, just on the platform he had collapsed in front of.

"God damn it. Now I just feel like a bitch."

He reached out a hand to grab it, but in a flash of blue light the Index was snatched away and pulled into a compartment on Guilty Spark's body. The small robot had appeared sometime after the Chief had turned around.

"I knew you had it in you, meatbag," said Guilty Spark. "But now that you've retrieved the index it falls to me to safeguard it. Your form is susceptible to infection and mutation, and to holes in your pockets."

"Why didn't you just take the index by yourself?" asked the Chief.

"The facility requires one such as yourself to deactivate the biolocks, and to activate Halo" explained Spark. "Otherwise I would terminate you post-haste."

"Oh, good," said the Chief.

Golden light began to glow around them. "Come now Reclaimer," said Spark. "It is finally time for you to learn the...terrible secret truth of Halo. I mean, to activate it. I think you'll figure it out when you do."

"I can't wait," said the Chief earnestly. "Is there a reason you have to be so mysterious?"

Guilty Spark chuckled like Raiden as played by Christopher Lambert in the Mortal Kombat movie. "Oh, you could say that. You humans are so unpredictable."

As the Chief's body began to disassemble and teleport away a thought occurred to him. "Wait a minute," he said to Shotana, "if the reason I haven't killed Oroe is because I love her, then why haven't I killed Sergeant Johnson? I mean, I'm no queer or nothing like that and he's a sworn niger enemy of the whytes. So what gives?"

"You're gay."


	18. Chapter 8 1 of 2

Chapter EightTwo Betrayals

**Or**

**Robot Judas and the Three Way Marathon Orgy of Violence and Plot Twists**

"_I'd like to Two her Betrayals if you know what I mean."-Oscar Wilde_

The Chief's body began to assemble on the walkway in the control room. Flashes of golden light and energy burst in and out of existence and, well, I've already described the teleportation like five times so that's enough of that. As the Chief teleported in he was still talking to Shotana.

"Wow, it's too bad that the teleportation caused me to forget the very last thing we talked about," he said happily. "Man, I really wanted to know why it was I've protected Sergeant Johnson all this time—I mean, up until the time he was murdered by the Covenant right in front of me."

Unfortunately Shotana was gone. The Chief looked around. "Oh no, Shotana! She must have been lost in the teleportation!" He turned to Spark, who was staring at something over the end of the platform. "We have to go back for her!" said the Chief.

Spark turned to look at him impassively. "Why did you throw that shotgun over the edge of the platform?"

"Well, I guess it's finally time to activate Halo, huh?" said the Spartan quickly, walking past him.

Guilty Spark followed, passing him the Index. "Indeed. You're about to find out the truth of Halo, meat churl. I can guarantee it will be a…deadly surprise."

"I hope so." The Chief walked over to the holographic control console. "Where do I put it in?" he asked, staring up in awe at the great hologram of Halo before him.

"Over there," said Spark, indicating with his voice. "Just shove it in and let the charge-up sequence begin. I can guarantee that the solution to the Halo mystery is quite…_final_."

"Can't wait." The Chief shoved the Index into the designated port. There was an odd, ominous humming sound and the holographic panel erupted in concentric halos of greenish light that radiated outwards in unstable waves, filling half the chamber. The Chief shielded his eyes with his hand for a moment.

"Odd," said Spark. "I expected more genocide."

"OH REALLY!" An enormous hologram of Cortana suddenly exploded into existence, towering high above the Chief and Spark. A blast of EMP energy hit Guilty Spark in his eye-face, knocking him down and temporarily deactivating him.

"AH IT'S GODZILLA!" The Chief shot at her.

"Stop that." Cortana pointed at the Chief. "I've spent the last six hours cooped up in here, watching you toady about helping _that thing_," she pointed at Guilty Spark, "get set to fuck our butts."

"Hold on now, he's an A.I. who mercilessly torments and mocks me. You can see why I might be used to following his directions."

"Oh, I didn't realize," said Cortana, putting a hand to her mouth in mock surprise. "He's your butt buddy, is he? Your ass blast? Do you have any idea what that cum chugger almost made you do?"

The Chief rolled his eyes. "_No_. That's the entire reason I'm doing this in the first place. I MUST KNOW THE TRUTH."

Spark rebooted and returned to floating in the air. He practically jumped in shock when he saw Cortana. "A construct in the core? What an outrage! I shall purge you at once." He began bobbing up and down erratically.

A holographic image of the index appeared in Cortana's hand. She immediately shoved it into her crotch and it disappeared. "You might want to stow that bitch-fit," she sneered. "I have the index. You can just fuck yourself."

The Chief laughed nervously. "Can somebody please explain to me what's going on?"

The erratic A.I. rounded on him. "Oh, you want the simple rundown, five words or less? Okay.** HALO DESTROYS THE UNIVERSE**."

"I know," said the Chief.

Cortana blinked her glowing yellow eyes. "You—you what?"

"I know," repeated the Chief. Spark turned to him.

"You knew? But all this time, everything you've said—"

"I knew all along," said the Chief smugly.

Cortana was staring at him. "But Chief, if you knew, then why did you help him?"

The Chief stared down at the floor, then looked up at her with a shadowed visor. "Because…nobody loves me. So everyone should die."

There was a moment of silence.

Cortana burst out laughing. "Oh my god. You really had me going for a minute there, _Shinji._"

The Chief was laughing too. "It's good to see you again Cortana."

"I was gone six hours you needy little bitch." Cortana crossed her arms and turned towards Spark as the Chief took up position next to her hologram and readied his rifle.

"Evangelion references?" sputtered Spark. "On _my _Halo?"

"It's more likely than you think," spat the Chief. "I should have guessed this all along, you little bastard. I was a fool to trust you."

"Yes," said Spark. "You really were, considering how many times I flat out told you what Halo does. But you should know that we must activate the ring; we have followed containment protocol to the letter, and you were with me each step of the way as we managed the process."

"Not really. I kind of dragged myself along by my face as you tormented me in hell."

"Sounds fun." Cortana looked around with growing agitation. "I'm picking up movement Chief."

The Chief pulled her USB drive out of Halo's control panel. The hologram flickered and died and the Chief lifted the chip to his face. "I want you inside me," he whispered, and then slid it into his helmet.

"What was that?" asked Cortana as she came online in his armor.

"What was what?"

Spark took note of this as several of his robot sex slaves arose from the depths. "O-kay. Anyways, last time you asked me 'if it was my choice, would I do it?' Having had considerable time to fuck every moving thing in sight with my huge cybernetic member my answer is still the same; there is no choice. We must activate the ring. Of course, this is a pretty easy decision for me because I'm still going to survive, as well all my steel…" he paused "companions."

The Chief glanced at the sentinels. "You lost me at 'last time. I'd love to debate whether or not killing ourselves is the best course of action, but I can tell from the way _you're insane _that that wouldn't go anywhere. I mean, come on: the plan is to kill _everything BUT _the Flood and then just leave them around until the next ten billion years when the next poor schmucks come along? Even _I _can tell that's easily one of the stupidest plans ever, and I'm RETARDED."

Spark tittered. "If you are unwilling to carry this through then I will simply find another to be my robo whore. I mean, the reclaimer, who reclaims. Give me the construct and I will make this as quick and painless as possible. Before I rip your head off."

"That's…." the Chief paused dramatically. "_Not going to happen_." He laughed. "But no, seriously, fuck you."

"As you wish." Spark turned to the Sentinels as he began to float away. "Save his head. Dispose of the rest. Also, I told you to wear that lacey thing I bought you Maria. Why the fuck aren't you wearing it?" He buzzed off with a few of the sentinels. "I'm all tense. Somebody suck my dick."

The Chief watched him go. "God damn. We never saw the back stab coming. That guy is fucking _Machiavellian._"

"Not really Chief-LOOK OUT!" screamed Cortaan so loud that it made him double over. At that moment a lazer beem went shooting over where his head had been.

"Ow, jesus!" The Chief clutched the sides of his helmet. He rolled to the side as more lazur beams slashed the air where he had been. The sentinels converged around him, more of the robots bringing their lazers online to wear down his shields.

The Chief raised his rifle. "Sorry babes," he said, staring up at the robots. "This is the way it's _gotta be_." He opened fire and killed them all. Always bet on Chief.

"Wow, that was almost as easy as killing Marines," said Cortana.

The Chief agreed as smoldering metal fragments rained down around him. "They're both non-human targets." He marched off towards the door.

"Enough fooling around," exclaimed Cortana as the hanger-bay sized door out of the control room slowly began to open. "We can't let Spark activate Halo. If he does, we'll all die."

"I know. This has been well established."

"Right. We have to destroy Halo so that it can never be used. There are six other installations, but let's put that on the back burner for now."

"Oh wow, six Halos. You'd think one was enough sexual imagery. How do you know there're so many?" The Chief opened the door and peeked around the corner to see an approaching squad of Covenants.

"There are seven Halos not six. And I downloaded the index, remember?"

"Yeah, into your vagina. For some reason I found that incredibly hot."

Cortana ignored this. "I know everything about this ring; for example, firing Halo requires that three sub generators be active. We can buy some time by destroying these generators before Spark finds a way to fire Halo without the help of a human."

"Good idea," said the Chief as he killed the Covenant. They died in purple eruptions of blood, choking and gurgling as he filled them with bullets from his gun. "What about destroying Halo?"

One of the grunts fell to his knees holding another grunt's head in his hands. He spoke to it in a whisper. "Father—did I make you proud?"

"I'm not your father," said the severed head.

The Chief shot them both again for good measure as Cortana continued to talk. "If we can set off a large enough explosion we should be able to overload a few critical sub systems in the ring. A human starship's fusion reactors going critical would do the job."

"Damn Cortana," said the Chief as he exited the instillation and came out at the topmost floor of the large metal pyramid, "You turn me off so much when you talk nerd speak." Snow drifted towards his boots and his radar showed that the Covenant had sent more troops to occupy the various floors of the pyramid.

"I'm not surprised that you're physically repulsed by any, fractional sign of intelligence being exhibited by a woman you fucking ignoramus."

"Wow, the index really changed you. It wasn't a few hours ago that you were about to rape the shit out of me before I left to save Keyes." The Chief stopped. "Wait…oh my god, Keyes! What happened to Keyes! I saw him get carried off by the Flood."

"He's probably dead," said Cortana with little to no sympathy. "Good riddance too, he was a wrinkly old fuck. Now focus on the mission Chief, before I whip your taint."

"That's more like the Cortana I know will abuse me in the near future," said the Chief, getting an erection. He bit his lip. "Is there any way we can find my father—I mean, the keys to my repressed childhood—I mean, Keyes?"

"…yes. If I can locate and triangulate the signal from his neural I.D. transponder implant we might theoretically be able to pinpoint his exact position."

"And I'm flaccid again." The Chief set off down the side of the pyramid, blasting Covenant as he did so. A thought occurred to him as he was tearing a Jackal in half with his bare hands. "What about Oreo? Is her Butte okay?"

"Bad news Chief," said Cortana gleefully. "The Butte's been, shall we say, penetrated. As far as I know everyone is dead or captured. Based on the Covenant communications I've been able to intercept I'd say they've captured that doe eyed, doughy bitch of yours and are holding her on board the Truth and Reconciliation."

The Chief kicked an Elite's balls into his throat. The Elite's throat, not his own. The alien died. "Oh my god. What about Major Silva and the Helljumper—actually never mind, I don't care." He hopped down to the next level of the pyramid where two hunters lay in ambush.

Cortana's voice grew more serious. "It gets worse Chief; from the sound of things Cercil Saltstein has somehow taken over command of the entire Covenant Fleet on Halo. He's the one holding Oreo hostage."

"Actually that's good news," said the Chief as he did a deadly kata, killing both hunters at the same time.

Cortana considered this. "You're right. He'll probably do something retarded like sing show tunes or pretend to be on Star Trek. No threat to us or that walking pair of tits you want to pork so badly."

"Hey now," said the Chief, "My twisted brain-addled hallucinations told me that it's true love." He looked around: all the Covenant were dead. "Okay," he said, heading towards a parked Banshee. "Mark the first generator's location on my map and I'll do them all in sequence, traveling to a variety of areas by different transport and dealing with the various threats along the way."

"Okay," said Cortana. "Sounds really interesting."

The Chief got into a Banshee. "Wait, how do you drive these things again? The cockpit looks like the inside of your purple junk."

She ignored him. "You stick your hands in those two holes. They're a bit tight."

"I prefer brute force." The Chief stuck his hands into the two holes and closed the cockpit.

Now if you'll notice I just made two jokes at once there; one was in reference to one of the first games released on the Xbox, _Brute Force_, and the other was to violent un-lubed fisting.

The Banshee rose wobbling into the chilly air. Snowflakes peppered the deep mauve surface of the small craft, the main body of which looked not dissimilar from a large purple dildo designed for her pleasure. They rose into the air, the pyramid falling away behind and the biting sun of Halo shinning down. The Chief turned at a beautifully crystalline frozen waterfall and made a bombing run on two wraiths that had just arrived. The wraiths erupted in bright blue plumes of smoke and he pulled up. He aimed the craft at the platform jutting out from the side of the canyon; Cortana had marked it on his HUD display.

"You're coming in too fast," commented Cortana absently as the Chief rose towards the platform.

"Don't worry _baby_," he growled as he shoved his hands deeper into the two control holes. "We'll makeit. _Together_."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Awww yeah," said the Chief as the edge of the platform rushed towards him. "Here it _comes_."

The Banshee smashed full into the edge of the platform. Its front end was completely totaled, and both wings were bent up and back from the force of the blow. The small anti-gravity generators on either wing were both smashed into nonexistence and the wrecked ship made a graceful sort of half roll backwards, then fell with increasing speed towards the ground.

"I told you," said Cortana irritably. "You always try to do things too fast."

He sighed as the ground rushed up to meet them. "I know. Should've used protection."

"God damn it Chief."

The Banshee smashed into the ground and split in half like a big purple banana full of fire. The Chief's body was flung from the superheated eruption, flying through the air surrounded by a cloud of twisted debris. He smashed into a snow bank five hundred feet from the crash site.

The snow fell on his armored butt plate; the Chief had buried himself to the waist in the ground, his butt sticking out like a dog wanting to play catch.

After a time the Chief groggily pulled himself from the snow bank. He staggered up right and wandered in a circle for a minute. "Jeez, I think I'm going to be sick." He paused. "Cortana?" There was no response. The Chief checked his armor; there was no apparent damage that could have destroyed the abusive A.I.; he guessed the impacted had forced a reboot. The drifting snow banks and whistling air suddenly seemed much more foreboding.

"Oh shit," he said under his breath. "Not again..."

Someone cleared their throat behind them.

The Chief smirked grimly to himself and popped his neck, then began to turn around. "Okay Cercil," he began. "Ready for round four?" His jaw dropped when he saw who was standing there.

It was a girl with well tanned skin and dark raven black hair. Her hair was tied up in a cute pony tail and her hair was messy, and well kept. It was shiny, but also looked like light disappeared into it. It was fairly normal hair, yet it had a mystical appearance, like that of a powerful yet feminine raven. Going down her body, the Chief saw that she had fairly mid-sized breasts that were straining the fabric of her jumpsuit and a strong, athletic body that was feminine and not mannish, with fairly small breasts. Her jumpsuit was a pale blue, and featured several oil stains and burn marks, as if she were some sort of technician. The jumpsuit was rolled up to her elbows and rolled down at her ankles to touch the tips of her combat boots. The girl's face was high, with low cheek bones and a low forehead that looked cute and cheerleaderish. The Chief was sure that her appearance hid the inner strength that must surely dwell beneath the rough exterior this girl put on to the world. But the most interesting thing about her was the large tattoo that stretched across one side of her face and down her neck to disappear under her clothes. The Chief caught himself wondering what it looked like under there, and felt embarrassed and blushed, completely forgetting that he had no face or body to speak of. But upon closer inspection, he realized that the tattoo appeared to be of Covenant origin. It had strange symbols on it that he guessed were languages—if he could have understood it he guessed it might have said something like 'beautiful angel of light and darkness flower.' He wondered if maybe this girl had been raised by the aliens trying to destroy humanity so that they could turn her against the humans, and that the tattoo had been an oversight—or maybe if they had adopted her into their society for some reason. He wondered what kind of life that would be, to be surrounded by aliens that cared nothing for you, without the touch of another human, or of a…._man_. He felt embarrassed for thinking such romantic thoughts about a women he had just met one second ago. For she was a women, in all the ways that counted.

In other words his cock twitched.

The girl held up a large pistol and pointed it right at the Chief's head.

"Stop right there!" she said firmly. Her voice was rough and calloused but soft like a song bird's song.

The Chief held up his hands in surrender, despite the fact that he was wearing a suit of five inch thick armor and she could no more have hurt him than had sex with him through all that. He wondered where that thought had come from.

"I don't know what you are," said the girl, "but I know you're evil and I have to stop you."

"I'm not evil," said the Chief. "I fight for good." Carefully he moved his thigh to hide the tic marks he had carved into his armor under the name 'Mendoza.'

"Yeah right," laughed the girl in a strong yet vulnerable voice. "The Covenant told me all about you. No. Don't try to lie to my, Master Rapist-Abuser, I know who you are."

"Didn't you just say you didn't know who I was?" asked the Chief.

The girl stomped her foot angrily. "Just shut up! You're just like my foster-father who raped and abused my mother and I but then the Covenant came and killed him and saved me because they felt sorry for me."

The Chief blinked. "What?"

"Shut up!" she said, crying strong and not-weak tears as she held the gun on him with a rock steady grip.

"Jesus, calm down," said the Chief as he approached her. She cried and collapsed in his arms for some reason, feinting. The incredible emotions she was feeling had over whelmed her.

"Well I guess I'd better nurture her back to health in a secluded cave for-" began the Chief.

"I don't think so."

He turned, noticing that the snow had stopped falling; snowflakes hung in the air in some sort of stasis, and the wind had died as well. There was no sound in the white wasteland that the world had become. A tall and spindly figure was stalking towards him through the white static. The Chief squinted; it had the body of an ant, but it walked on two legs and had only two arms. Its head was comically over sized, but large black eyes stared balefully at him. The Chief clutched the small girl to his chest and stared at the approaching creature.

"Y-you. You're the one from my dreams. Are you real?"

"I am real." The ant stood by him and looked down at the girl in his arms. "My name is Alistair Conley. So Halo destroys the universe, huh? What a twist. I bet you're filled with grim resolve to—"

The Chief interrupted him. "Why are you an anthropomorphic ant?"

"Because I'm _ant_thropomorphic. Do you know what you're holding in your arms,?"

"A hot girl," said the Chief. "I must warm her with my corded and banded muscles."

"I don't think so." The ant produced a large meat cleaver from somewhere. "That's a Marisoo, Chief."

"What's a Marisoo?" asked the Chief, completely confused. "And what are you?"

"Marisoos are powerful creatures; they have the ability to warp reality around their desires, to alter peoples minds to their own will. They wander through the vast emptiness of the galaxy, searching with a thousand hungry eyes, searching for people and events to violate, to corrupt and twist until there is nothing of what they left. They are Dark Gods that desire only pleasure and the fulfillment of their unknowably terrible fantasies."

Then the ant raised the meat cleaver above its head. "But I have my own plans for you and your friends. They're pretty horrible plans, but nowhere near as horrible as what this creature will do."

"Yeah well—I mean, NO" said the Chief suddenly. "u cant kill her just becuz she's covenant1"

The ant's eyes burned with rage. "She is influencing you with her Marisoo powers. Step aside."

"NO!" The Chief burst to his feet. "I WONT LET U HERT HER!" He pushed the ant hard in the chest and toppled over, its huge head unbalancing it. It might only have been a simple fall if not for the large, sharp piece of Banshee wreckage lying on the ground just behind the ant. There was a crunching sound and then Alistair Conley was laying there with a piece of smoking metal jutting from his emaciated carapace of a chest. Two feeble arms reached up to clutch at the protrusion, the ant's antenna twitching weakly. Conley looked down at the wound.

"What…what have you done? I am your creator!" Yellow blood began to pool around the ant as its head lolled back and forth. "She…" Alistair coughed. "She must have infiltrated this dimension more thoroughly than I thought, to be able to….kill me." Its eyes refocused on the Chief. "Do you know what you've done? With my death a power vacuum will open and unspeakable horrors will force their way into this dimension…" it pointed an unsteady finger. "And you will be powerless to stop them!"

"Wait!" sputtered the Chief. "You must tell me all those secrets that you've been hinting at this whole time! Was it you that saved Oreo back on the glass beach? Why have you stalked my dreams? How does Mendoza keep returning from the dead? Why do I share dreams with Cericl, and where do his powers come from? And why did you disguise yourself as him in my dream of a gay crack house? What were you trying to accomplish?"

The ant gurgled as more blood poured from its mouth. "I do not have…enough time…to explain my incredibly intricate and…complex plans, that all totally make sense." It coughed again. "Only, heed these final words."

The Chief leaned in and Alistair Conley spoke in a damp, dying whisper. The words he heard chilled him to the bone.

_"The Orc-King is coming."_

Then he died.

There was a sucking sound, like a great bathtub full of shit draining away into the sewage system. Light flashed through the world for a second, and then the ant's corpse was gone as if it had never been, blood and all wiped away to leave only the wreckage of the banishee and the slowly falling snow.

The Marisoo opened her eyes.

**Shattered, Darkened Souls**

**Chapter VIII**

**Part I**

_By Whitania Drakensang_

_WARNING: THIS IS A VERY DARK ANGSTY STORY WITH LOTS OF HURT/COMFORT AND LOTS OF TASTY YAOI! IF YOU DON'T LIKE THEN DON'T READ._

_(Author's Note: Ths is mai frst tyme wrtng so plz be gntl.)_

I opened my dark white eyes. An orange visor was hovering in front of my face. I scrambled away, fear overtaking me, and reached for my gun. But it was gone.

"Looking for this?" asked the visor, who I now recognized as the Master Abusive-Sodomite—the human warrior who had destroyed so many of my Covenant alien kind who I was a member of.

I glared at him, fire in my eyes and my voice when I spoke. "Give me my gun back. Now."

"Not before you answer some questions," said the bastard. I narrowed my eyes and focused my thoughts. Suddenly, the gun flew out of his raping hands and into my outstretched palm. I grabbed it and pointed it at him, grinning.

"Say goodbye, bad guy," I said.

"Wait!" called a familiar voice. I turned to see my Covenant friends Cercil and Oz approaching. I had known Oz the Stealth Hunter ever since I was a kid. We had played basketball together-and I had always beaten him. Cercil I didn't like as much. He was always making fun of me and trying to one up me, just because I was human and a girl. He often put me down with cruel mocking nad sexism in front of a bunch of preps, but I always beat him anyways. But the prophets had decided to send us to the Holy Ring together, so I had to deal with him.

Oz ran up to me and we did a secret hand shake. "Hi Whitania," he said. "What do we have here?"

"Just a filthy human I captured," I said, brushing a strand of hair out of my face.

__"Bah," said Cercil in his annoying nasal voice. "I could have done it. You are WEAK and a WOMAN.

"SHUT UP!" I said and decked him with a butterfly kick that I had learned when I was five at the martial arts academy of rape defense before my foster father had raped me.

Cercil stared up at me from the ground and I saw fear and anger in his rape eyes. "Why you bitch! I'll get you one day, possibly in a sexual way because that is where men get their power!" He adjusted the buttplug in his skull.

"We don'th have time for your bullcrap," I said. "I'm obviously more dedicated to the Covenant's cause."

He nodded slowly. "Alright, Whitania. We put this on hold for now. But later you're going to beat me up."

"We'll see about that," I said grimly. Then I offered one hand to him. He took it, and I pulled his six hundred pounds of muscle and armor up without using any of my body weight. Part of my abilities as a **special training program assassin** were enhanced strength, even though my muscles didn't show it. I had to recharge though, and that would leave me vulnerable to big strong men like the Master Abuser-Raper.

__"So what do we do with this guy?" asked Oz, pointing at the big guy, who was cowering from the small caliber pistol I was pointing at him.

"We'll take him back to base for interrogation," I said. "Then we'll see if he's interested in joining our cause against the evil humans."

"Good idea," said Oz. "I'll go get the land speeder."

When we got back to base Darran and Eric the gay alien couple were making out in front of it. Eric was smaller than Darren and that just made it hotter.

"Ew!" I said, while secretly I blushed. Darran and Eric laughed at me and went off making out to go have butt sex. The Chief stared after them and I wondered briefly if perchance he was gay as well. Some part of me hoped not, though I wasn't sure why it was that I hoped not so that I could have sex with him though maybe he was bi.

I led the Chief through the corridors. Aliens of all shapes and sizes cast us suspicious or hostile looks. Some even made cat-calls at the Chief and I, and I blushed harder.

"What is this place?" asked the Cheif.

"This is the headquarters of the resistance," I said. "We're a faction of the covenant that believe humans and aliens should co-exist."

"I thought you just said that humans were evil," he said confusedly.

"What was that?"

He stared at me like I was weird or something. "Nothing, never mind," he said in a glazed voice.

"That's better."

We made our way to the quarters.

"You'll be staying with me," I said. "We don't want any of the soldiers to get ideas."

He looked confused again. "What?"

I laughed. "You're not very bright are you? Men are naturally stupid though, so I don't blame you. The covenant here are all outcasts. They have different tastes than normal Covenant. They like to have gay sex with humans, Chief."

Cercil, who had been walking with us, growled deep in his throat. "Yes we do." I hit him.

"Why?" asked the Chief in confusion. "Not that I'm complaining…" he paused. "I mean…"

"Because I need my Yaoi fix—I mean, because I'm going to protect you from them while I interrogate you, Chief." I said.

"But aren't you their leader?" he asked, head lolling around in confusion. "Can't you just order them not to rape me?"

"I'm sorry, but no," I said. "Later on I might decide to put in an almost-raped or a total-rape scene, so I have to leave the possibility open."

"What?"

Cercil and Oz left and I took him to my room and undressed while he watched.

"Don't be a pervert," I said when I caught him looking at me as I put on my G-string and stiletto heels that I always wore to bed.

"Are you going to interrogate me now?" he asked. I flushed. Surely he couldn't have meant…

"Maybe," I said. "But I need to sleep first."

I went to sleep and I felt the Chief slipped into bed next tome. I tried to whirl and strike him in the throat to kill him but his steel hard arms had encircled me, holding me tight and stopping me from moving. I tried to kick but he brushed the blow aside. I gasped as he pressed his hardness into me.

"Ilove youhe wishpered in my ear."

Some part of me had been waiting to hear that. My body turned into pure sex. Igasped nad rocked my hipz against his bulging ertecti0-

"AHHHH AYUUIUUGHHHHH!" I cried in ectasy as hs hardns slips insize me. "UUUUUUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH" said the Chief manly as he thrust. Ted. I thrust Ed back & we cryed out as we both reached our poek inmere seccnds. THAT IS S O GOODDDDDDDDDD…WE DDD it fR the rst lof the night, oru bodys covered iun swet and ddthefuid s iof olvoie ."M im coming

The next morning I awoke completely clean and coated in sweat. The covers were tangled with sweat from the night before. The Chief was lying at the foot of my bed like an obedient dog, wearing nothing but his helmet. I had ridden him all night long, physically overpowering him from the start and taming him like a wild stallion. JGGDomg SO HOT

There came a knock on the door. I stood up and moved sexily to the door. I opened the door.

Cercil stood there. His eyes raked down by naked body nad back up with hatred and disgust in them—I let him look. I didn't care what he thought. His lips curled back in a disgusted expression that was angry.

"Oh my god what's happening get out of my head!" he screamed suddenly, clutching at his bandaged skull. Then he glared up at me. "YOU'RE RAPING MY MIND. STOP RAPING MY MIND!"

My eyes flashed.

"And…" Cercil blinked. "I, um…I…" Suddenly he went back to normal and looked at me again. He flushed red with rage. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING WALKING AROUND LIKE THAT, human whore!"

My eyes flashed. With rage. This was. The last. St.R.a.w….

"That's the last straw!" I shouted at Cercil. He cowered. "HOW CAN YOU CALL A WOMAN A WHORE FOR HAVING SEX WITH A MAN SHE IS ATTRACTED TO! ITS SO COMPLETELY UNFAIR THAT WOMEN ARE TREATED AS WHORES FOR DOING THE EXACT SAME THING THAT EVERY SINGLE MAN DOES WHICH IS HAVE SEX WITH EVERYONE IN SIGHT ALL MEN DO HTAT BUT WHEN A WOMEN DOES IT SHE'S A WHORE OR A SLUT! ITS NOT LIKE I JUST MET HIM OR ANYTHING! ALSO I CAN WALK AROUND NAKED IF I WANT1 IT IS PART OF MY FEMALE POWER AND MY POWERFUL VAGINA THAT I CAN WALK AROUDN IN SEXY CLOTHES. MEN ARE AFRAID OF POWERFUL VAGINA AND THE UTERUS BECAUSE WYMEN ARE THE ONLY ONES WHO CAN HAVE CHILDREN BUT MEN ARE NECCESARY TO THE PROCESS OF HAVING CHILDREN AND THEY FEEL USELESS."

"AAAHhh!" Cercil cowered and ran away. Everyone in the compound laughed at him. "I'll get you back for thiiiiiiiiis!" he screamed over his shoulder as he ran.

I got dressed, still fuming, and woke up the Chief. I let him walk around without bonds today; if he tried anything, I would just kill him.

"Where are we going?" asked the Chief.

"I'm going to take you to our leader," I said.

"Who is that?" he asked confusedly, slipping on his armor. I didn't worry about the power armor; I could still easily beat him.

"You'll find out when you met her," I said.

Soon we arrived athte meeting room. Darren and Eric the gay alien couple waited outside.

"Hey Whitania," said Eric. "Girl you are _glowing_ today. What have you and the man of the hour been up to?"

I blushed. "Hey, none of your business."

Darren laughed. "Go right on in, darling. She's expecting you."

"I hop she's in a good mood today," I said.

We went inside. At the table inside were seated Cercil, Oz, and Kit Fisto, my girlfriend. I walked around to the head of the table and took my place.

"I'm glad you all could make it."

"Sir," said Oz and Kit Fisto. Cercil only fumed.

The Chief looked at me. "Where's the leader?" he asked.

"I am the leader," I said.

"But you just said.…but…okay." The Chief sat down on the floor next to me and looked at the other people at the table. HE nad Cercil locked gayzes for a moment, and I was sure I could detect a spark of heat there…I felt tingly. NOW I'M GOING TO GO TO TVTROPES AND PUT TWO CHARACTERS UNDER FOE YAY AND DO GAY SHIPPING BECAUSE THERE WAS ONE SCENE WHERE THEY MADE EYE CONTACT. THEN I WILL WRITE A SLASH FIC.

I mean…"As you all know," I said, "I have had sex—I mean, The Chief is our newest ally from the human side. Hopefully with his help we'll be able to finally unite the Covenant and the Humans in friendship."

Kit Fisto raised his hand. I nodded. "But whahat" she said "if the humans don't want to join us? They can be so violent and illogical and full of rage at us destroying their race. Will we ever learn to co-exist with such imperfect creatures."

Kit Fisto was a pretty with dark armor. She wore dark make up and fish nets over her funny alien fingers and she had deep red eyes like blood. She had emo hair and a sniper rifle slung over her back. Everyone desired her, but as her friend we both knew that she was too shy to be with people.

"NONE OF THAT IS TRUE!" She paused, her eyes crossing. "I mean….yes…I am a goffik gurl."

"I know," I said, "It makes me worried to. The humans I mean. But we have to try. Just look at the Chief—he's already coming around." I blushed.

The Chief was whimpering on the floor in a puddle of vomit. "Somebody help me I can't think. I mean, I can't think more than usual" Then he and Cercil looked at each other again, and I saw that same gay spark between them.

"Keep your eyes off of him, Cercil," I said, glaring. He avoided my eyes. "You beter not try to rape anyone and I walk in and save the Chief or maybe he saves me from you trying to kill me."

Cercil gaped at me. "What? I…what? Is that you Chief? Where are we? I can't think….I—" Cercil visibly had an aneurysm. His head slammed into the table with a splat and blood began to pool around it. "…Picaaaaarrrrd." Nobody noticed, though Oz the Stealth hunter had begun to drool copious amounts of drool. Kit Fisto appeared to be sweating, and was frowning as if she had a terrible headache. Eric and Darren were still continually making out and jerking each other off at the same time.

"Well that's enough of that," I said. "IT's time to go on our first mission. We have to shut down the Halo systems before Guilty Spark can turn them on."

"And HOW do you PROPOSE that we do such a TERRIBLE and SHITTY plan?" snarled Cercil, sitting up abruptly. "OBVIOUSLY this woman is not FIT to RULE us at ALL. I should BE the ONE in CHARGE of THIS operation!"

"IF you feel that way let's put it to a vote," I said.

Everyone raised their hands in favor of me. Oz's hand trembled violently.

"All in favor of me raise their hands," I said.

They raised their hands.

Cercil paled. "I…I….I…I….I..I…I….I..I…..I…I..I….I…I…I…I…II….I…I…I-I-I-I-I-I"

"Moving on."

"NO!" Cercil slammed a fist into the table and shot to his feet, dark purple blood steaming down his face from his eyes. "I WON'T LET YOU CONTROL ME YOU BITCH I'LL RIP YOUR SKULL IN HALF AND FUCK YOUR BRIANS INTO"

I shot to my feet and delivered a round house anti-rape kick to Cercil's chin, knocking him backwards. He fell on the floor. Kit Fisto got up to help him and glared at me.

"Was that really necessary?" she asked. I knew that she and Cercil were both gay, and they had a strong bond from childhood where they had been dark and emo together and were long time friends, though she often complained to me of how much of an asshole he was.

"Yes," I said. "hHe needs to learn his place. "

"What _is_ this place?" mumbled Oz through a mouthful of drool. "What's going on? Who are you? What are you doing to us?"

Kit Fisto had begun to strangle Cercil and to beat his head against the floor, growling something about Star Trek. I glared at her, and she blinked, frowned, helped him into his chair instead and sat back down. She was now visibly sweating and having micro seizures, her face twisted in agony. Darren and Eric had both collapsed, victims of hot yaoi sex.

I stood up. "This meeting is adjurnd. Let's get to work ppl; Darren and Eric I want you at the CIC to manage the other troops, make sure not to have butt sex with them. Oz I want you to put Cercil in one of our cells and keep an eye on him. Fisto, Chief, you're with me."

"Sir." Fisto stood up, and so did the Chief. They stumbled after me as I exited the room.

"Who're you?" asked the Chief, smacking into a wall dizzily and then holding onto Fisto's shoulder to steady himself.

"Ghhh…" Fisto shook him off and dry heaved against the wall. I frowned at them for acting so weird and they followed me, dragging their feet.

"We need to get out of here," hissed the Chief to Fisto behind my back. "This…incredibly hot and sexy woman who I love is…is controlling us somehow."

Fisto stared at him. "Demon!" She lurched forwards. "You will—"

I walked up to them. "Hey, what are you guys talking about?" I chirped.

The Chief made an audible gulping sound. "Uh…nothing, my love."

"I love you too." I stared lovingly into his eyes. "Kit, why don't you go help Darren and Eric. We can talk about boys and do each other's hair later."

Fisto looked at her—at me with barely controlled disgust, but after a moment a dreamy expression washed over her alien face and she nodded. "Good idea Whitania. I leave you two loverbirds alone!" she laughed.

I blushed. "HEY it's not like that, we don't love each other. Just because a man and a woman are good friends, doesn't mean theryre in liov."

"Oh god." The Chief began to cry. "I miss Sergeant Johnson. Everyone I love is dead, except for Oreo."

I stared at him. I felt anger inside of me. "Who?"

The Chief looked around. "Who? What?"

"Whose this Oreo slut?"

The Chief's expression paled under his visor. "I…nobodoy. I love only you, my love."

"That's right," I said, approaching him. I pinned him to wall with a kiss through his visor. He was still naked. He mput his strong arms arophdn my add I melt ed ilnitl ihsi strong arms wlke butter, the slut ovetalking ke .I didn,t care who as watching or that we were ion a hallway.

Kit Fisto stood there staring in absolute horror.

"OI LVV U IK: I cried ot ain EXTASxzY as H WE wwour boudys shyudrred together

"Whitania!" he cried out as I rode him like a thoroughbred there in the middle of the hallway. "I LVOE YOU!"

Cercil groaned as he was dumped into a cell by Oz, who was drooling more and mumbling to himself. Cercil fell to the ground. He looked up at the other occupants of the cell; two women, one a redheaded green eyed marine with a militant expression, the other a pale dark haired woman with a large chest.

"GODS damn IT!" he bellowed, feeling faint and confused. "MORE confident and EMPOWERED WOMEN1? I CANNOT STAND FEMALE HEROINES!"

"What the hell are you talking about, Cercil?" asked Oreo with a look of absolute hatred in her eyes.

"SILENCE BREEDEr!" bellowed Cercil, standing up. "I will NOT allow YOUR wOMANNESS to CORRUPT the MALE STRONG PSYCHE.!"

Oreo shook her head; this was the least of the retarded things that Cercil had screamed into her face in the past six hours. "What's going on? There was this noise, and then everything seemed to change somehow. The guards have all been talking about the new Queen of the Covenant Whitania. An Elite and Jackal had gay sex in front of our cell."

Cercil stared at her. "The…the…" his eyes seemed to pop out of his head. "Ah, Oreo, I remember both of you." He was staring at her chest. "We're being attacked by some sort of…of…of thing! Everything just changed—" He screamed. "GOD DAMN IT!" he clutched at his head. "IT'S RAPING MY MIND!"

"Oh my god!" said Oreo in horror. She backed against the wall as Cercil flailed around in agony. She looked at McKay.

"McKay, we have to do something!

"Fuck you," said McKay. "You can all go hang for all I care. To hell with everyone. Life is bleak and then you die." She was wearing dark fishnets and her hair had black streaks in it. Head like a hole, black as your soul, I'd rather die, than give you control.

"Wow, you're a bitch." Oreo turned back to Cercil, who had stood up and was dry washing his hands.

"Foolish FEMALE!" he bellowed. "DON"T SAY ANOTHER word or I WILL SLAP You with THESE HANDS."

"Hey, settled down in there human," said Oz, bumping his head against the cell's force field. Oreo ran up to it.

"Hey, goliath," she hissed. "I don't know what's going on but it's bigger than you and me. And bigger than Cercil, but that's not hard."

*RIMSHOT*

Oz stared at her for a moment. "I don't know what to do," he said.

"You have to let us out!" exclaimed Oreo. "I don't seem to be affected—maybe I can put a stop to this thing."

Oz bit his lip. "But Whitania is my friend. I've known her since we found her abandoned in a burned down foster rape kill home for abused children and took her to the academy of rape defense where she learned the buttefly kick and became a special training program assassin and we played basketball."

"…Okay." Oreo ground her teeth. "I don't think I understood half of what you just said. Listen, I know we're enemies, but we don't have time for that now; the enemy of my enemy is my friend, right? If you don't help me then we all lose."

"WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT SPEAKING!" roared Cercil as he rose up behind Oreo. He grabbed her by the hair and threw her across the cell, then loomed over her. "GET MEH A BEEER WOMUNH!" he snarled, raising his hand to strike her while adjusting his cowboy hat and wife beater.

Suddenly a giant hand came out of nowhere and swatted Cercil aside. Oz had entered the cell! He pinned Cercil to the wall with one arm and stepped aside to let Oreo and McKay escape. The two women bolted for the door and slipped out of the brig as fast as they could.

"Sorry master," said Oz to Cercil as he let him fall to the floor. "This is for your own good."

"HOW DARE YOU!" slavered the Elite. "YOU AND WHITANIA WERE ALWAYS AGAINST ME FROM THE BEGINNING!"

Oz wept. "ONLY BECAUSE YOU WERE SUCH A HEARTLESS BASTARD AND WERE SO MEAN TO HER!"

Me and the Chief walked down the corridors of the Truth and Reconciliation to get to the hanger where the land speeder was. As we went, the various aliens in the hallways bowed to me and whispered their praises:

"Oh glorious Queen of the Covenant, my life and body are yours."

I nodded to them.

"Why do they call you Queen of the Covenant?" asked the Chief.

I threw back my long silver hair and made sure that the gun metal gray tiara across my head, bearing the Covenant's symbol, was secure. I had changed into my leather jumpsuit just like Kate Beckonsalls underworld outfit. "Because," I said, "I am the Queen of the Covenant."

"But I thought you said you were a splinter group that believed humans and aliens should work together."

I looked at him. The Chief blinked, shook his head, and said: "Well, okay, I guess that makes sense. But I thought the Covenant was run by the Prophets. I don't remember anything about Queens—"

"Here we are," I said as I opened the door to the hanger. The Chief followed me in. As we walked past the rows of vehicles I noticed two gay Elites having sex out of the corner of my eye. We passed them by.

"What the hell," said the Chief.

I rounded on him. The Chief could be so heartless and crude sometimes, needing a woman to tame the savage bestialness of his nature. "THERE'S NOTHING WRONG WITH PEOPLE IN LOVE EVEN IF THEY ARE AGAINST GODS WISHES BUT ITS HOT."

"Yeah but…" the Chief squinted at me. "But why?"

I ignored him and got into the land speeder sexily and beckoned to him. He followed and got in next to me. I started the car and drove it out of the side of the ship and into the air. It sped through the air and I radioed in on its radio.

"Guys," I said. "Do you read me?"

"Loud and clear miss," came Oz's voice over the radio. "Cercil's calmed down and we're on our way to the first generator as I reported. We're clearing the way for you now."

"Good job team one. Keep a close eye on Cercil," I said. "Team two, are you in position?"

Darren and Eric's giggling voices came over the speaker. "Loud and clear girlfriend. We're heading towards the second generator now." I knew that by 'generator' they meant gay and by 'now' they meant anal sex. I blushed, the cold air stinging my face as the winter wonder world of Halo sped down below us.

"Where's Cortana?" asked the Chief suddenly, looking around and clutching his head as if he had only just awoken.

I frowned at him. "Who?"

"This is team three," said Kit Fisto's voice on the radio. "I'm on my way to the third generator."

"Good," I said. Everytrhng was fallig into place.

"What's going on?" asked the Chief stupidly.

"We have to shut down those generators before Guilty Spark can find a way to power up and activate Halo," I said. "But you'd know that if you'd stop staring at my chest for all the time."

I looked at the Chief as I drove the land speeder and winked sexily.

'OH, wlel if you put it like that…" started the Chief.

Then he unzipped me jumpsuit and gave me oral as I drove.

(AUTHOR'S NOTE: LOL Sry about all the love scens but its really important 4 the story, trust me lots of action coming up soon lol. – Whitania Drakensang)


	19. Chapter 8 2 of 2

**Darkly Souls Which Are Shattered**

**Chapter IVIIII**

**Part II**

By Whitania Drakensang

The Chief stared at the beautiful lightly darkly tanned woman beside him. He could get lost in the straight curls of her hair, the thin full lips of her strong delicate face. Was this what love felt like? He had never felt love before—nay, never been able to reach out and form a connection with another being but for his heated homo erotic love/hate relationship with Cercil Saltstein. He was distracted by a voice in his head.

"Can you hear me Chief?"

"Yes," he mouthed, knowing that Cortana could detect even tiny vocalizations.

"What's going on?" asked the A.I. with an almost worried tone to her voice.

The Chief watched as Whitania drove the car. "Cortana…I'm…in love."

"…what? Chief, I'm reading abnormal brain activity in your…brain. Your cerebral cerebellum is releasing the chemicals that co-inside with happiness, but you're also pumping out metric tons of adrenaline. Something is very wrong here, and with that woman. I think she's controlling you."

"You're not affected?" asked the Chief as he thought about reaching out to stroke the silver curve of Whitania's hair.

"No, I'm not; I just woke up when you were having sex with her. It was quite a surprise; I thought you lost your dick in the teleportation—and how come you could never get it up_ish_ like that for me?" she teased.

"Well I'm fairly certain no penetration actually happened, but I can tell you the reason we've never had sex is because you're not real." He looked down. "I need…a real woman, someone who can hold me, who can wipe the sweat off my fevered lips as I lie pained and gasping from exertion fresh from the horror of war."

"Oh, okay. We'll see how real I am when I shove my strap-on dick up your ass."

The Chief ignored her. "Cortana, I don't know what's happening; sometimes I can think clearly, but when she talks to me it's like I enter a trance state. We have to do something."

Whitania looked over at him. "What's wrong Chief?" Her voice was like a legion of jingling bells, transfixing him. Her white eyes were like limpid pools of cream.

"Nothing. My LOVE." The Chief tried to kiss her face with his helmet but she playfully punched him in the shoulder.

"Okay then," said Cortana. "I'll try to think of something to do. You just sit tight, Chief. Good luck. Try not to get mind raped."

The Chief smiled dreamily. "I am the luckiest man in the world. There is nobody else in this world that I want but you, my love Whitania."

"I know." Whitania parked the air car sexily and got out. They had landed back on the very same platform that the Chief had crashed into. She got out and pulled out two pistols to duel wield. THe Chief followed her in his armor with his guns.

"You should have armor, like me," said the Chief. "I wouldn't want any of your beautiful alabaster skin to be scratched because I love you."

"You might have armor," said Whitania, "but I don't need armor."

"WHY?" asked the Chief like a retard.

AT that moment some Flood attacked and shot bullets at Whitania. She twisted in slow motion and the bullets missed her, passing right past her and kicking up her hair into the air. Time slowed down as she watched the bullets pass, then she twisted and shot the Flood to death with her pistols. They crumpled to the ground.

"Because that," she sassed.

We got out of the car and went into the side of the cliff into the passage way that led to the generator. As we walked through the corridor I noticed yellow stains on the wall and blood and stuff, and as we went deeper (lol get yr mnd ot f th gutr) into the facilation we discovered the dead bodies of Covenant soldiers.

I felt to my ground in front of the body of a dead grunt who had been tonr in half. I cradled his adorable head In my lap as I swept silent trays into my lapp. The Chief squatted down next to me and put a hand in my shoulder.

"There was nothing. You could do." He said, and farted quietly.

I looked up at him with tears in and coming out of my eyes. "These men were under my protection. They threw their lives away for me, trying to stop Halo and the Flood. AND IT WAS ALL FOR NOTHING. I'M NOT WORTH ANYONES LOYALTY OR YOUR LOVE." I looked away into my shoulder. The Chief gently steered my face back to his face.

"Hey now," he said. "You're beautiful, and perfect. A goddess. Anyone would die for you and be happy to."

I shook my head. "I wish I wasn't perfect. I wish everything could be okay." I looked into his eyes through the visor. "I wish we could all go home."

The Chief looked deeply into my eyes. "There is nowhere," he said softly, like the whispering softness of silk on flesh, "I would rather be," he continued with a soft sigh in his voice, "than with," he finished with truth ringing crystalline in his voice "_you_."

Then he put his penis in my vagina and we had sex.

Later, the Chief watched as I zipped my white leather jumpsuit up all the way up my body and put my tiara back over sweat tangled hair that was still perfect and sexual. I was glowing. His eyes were roaming lustfully over my perfect pale dark white dusky silver skin as it disappeared behind the zipper of the jumpsuit.

"Eyes on all the dead bodies that surround us," said I said as I zipped up, winking at the Chief. "Don't be a pervert. They could come alive and attack us at any time."

"That's not how the Flood works," said the Chief. "They have to get infiltrated by an infector form.

At that moment there was a moan and from the ground rose a flood zombie. It attacked us, tentacles whipping out like the cruel lashes of a whip. The Chief only stared in stupidity because he had not expected it.

"Looks like they must have mutated," I said. "I can tell because I am also a brilliant female scientist who all the male scientists wish they were better than. WHAT DID I TELL YOU!" I screeched at the Chief as I dodged its tentacles.

"I AM A STUPID MAN!" said the Chief as he was struck by the blow and went flying across the room.

I rushed to him. "Oh god Chief, are you okay!" The zombie was hot on my heels.

"I'm fine1" said the Chief, sweat pouring off his incredible body that I had just had sex with not a few seconds ago. I rounded on the zombie which was closing in fast and aimed my guns.

Suddenly there was a crack and the zombie's head exploded. It slumped, deader, to the ground. I looked around confusedly. From around the corner came Kit Fisto with a sniper rifle, smoke pouring from the barrel.

"Your welcome," she said, grinning smugly as she walked over. "I see you needed me to save you after all. Not so perfect are we?" She eyed the Chief with disgust. "Ah, human males. Disgusting."

I frowned at her. Next to Cercil, Kit Fisto was my biggest rival and she had always been mean to me and called me names like bitch and told all the other boys that I was a slut. She had always been Cercil's evil accomplice.

"I didn't need your help," I retorted.

"Of course I didn't-I mean you didn't," said Kit Fisto. "Just like you don't 'need' a man to carry you around because you're a weak little slut." She waggled her eyebrows at me. "You slut."

"I AM NOT WEAK! OR A SLUT! YOU'RE BUYING INTO THE PATRIARCHY!" I shouted, clenching my fists.

"Ladies, ladies," said the Chief suavely. "Let's get to work, hm? The generator is right over there." He pointed at it. "I can overload it with my shields."

Fisto sneered at him. "Who said we needed your help at overloading the generator with your shields, human male? Feh. I should be the Queen of the Covenant, not you Whitania. I don't rely on _humans _or males to get me off."

I could have killed her right there but I didn't. "Chief" I said instead, "go take care of it."

He did while I and Fisto faced off. There was a flash of light and the lights dimmed as the Chief walked back, sweat glistening off his armor.

"You've always been my biggest rival and never my friend," I said to Fisto. "But that doesn't matter now because we have to work together. I think somethings coming; something terrible, a storm."

Fisto nodded darkly. "You're right. I've noticed it too during my battle meditations. Because I am a dark action girl."

I heard a noise of feet and turned around. There was something huge and dark just beyond the dimness of the room standing in the corridor. Fisto and the Chief gasped.

"What's that?" asked the Chief.

I knew what it was, what he was, and the thought chilled me to the bones.

A voice echoed form the darkness—deep and masculine. "So…my little darling Whitania, come out to play at last. You fled through the galaxy for all these years, but now I've found you at last."

_Him_. THe memories came rushing back, brining with them a horrible raping touch that chilled me. I felt fear over take my body and blackness surge up to drown me. The Chief's strong arms caught me as I fell and that was all I knew. _Him!_

When I opened my eyes the Chief was flying the land speeder and I was in the passenger seat. I looked around and saw that Kit Fisto was lounging in the back doing a field check on her sniper rifle.

"What happened?" I asked half panicked.

"I don't know," said the Chief as he drove towards the second generator. "That strange presence left and we fled the building. Who was that strange presence in the darkness?"

I shuddered. "Someone…from my past. I thought he had…forgotten me. But I knew that he would never…forget me. He won't rest until he…gets me."

"You are such a pussy," said Fisto. I glared at her, and she shook her head, an expression of confusion on her face. "I mean…you are so weak, Whitania—no WONDER you NEED MEN to HELP YOU! FEH!"

I looked away darkly into the snow storm I was driving us through. "You can't understand, Kit. In a way I envy you. Because you've never been horribly _violated and ashamed _like I have."

"Whatever."

"What did he do to you?" asked the Chief with sudden primal anger in his voice. "I'LL KILL HIM."

I put a hand on his hand. "You can't," I said. "He may be stronger than me, even. One day I'll need to face that darkness. But today, we can live in the light, for now."

The Chief looked at me and smiled. In the back of the car Kit Fisto groaned in disgust as me and the Chief began to make out. After we were done having sex in mid air we drove to the second generator. This time we set down in the snow next to a door in the side of an iceberg. There were dead flood bodies everywhere. I could tell that Darren and Eric had already been this way because of the gayness of the scene. We walked through the corridors that were lined with rows upon rows of dead flood bodies, riddled with bullet holes.

"Some serious fighting went down in here," said the Chief.

"SILENCE HUMAN!" screeched Fisto. The Chief flinched away.

"hey," I said. "He's with me, don't u tuch him."

Kit Fisto spat on the ground in disgust. "Yeah, I noticed. Like three times."

When we opened the door to the circular generator room we were greeted with the sound of a machine gun firing. We barreled for cover and found the origin of the sound: Darren and Eric had set up an impromptu bunker at one end of the room and were mowing down a seemingly un-ending series of Floods as they did so. We ran over to them. When we got to where we were Eric turned, one hand still firing his weapon at the zombies and the other doing something between Darren's legs. I noticed that Darren's own hand was gripping Eric's butt tightly.

THe Chief watched this with raised eyebrows and a sardonic smile as I blushed.

"Oh hey Girlfriend" said Eric, winking. "We're just _cleaning up_ here so that when you _came _you would have an easy time _deactivating _your generator."

Darren laughed and squeaked in pleasure as he shot zombies.

"Just to be clear," said the Chief,"we're watching two aliens jack each other off as they shoot zombies. And this is supposed to be…what?"

I stared at him. The Chief cleared his throat, blinked, and looked at Darren and Eric again. He grunted in a sexual way.

"Huh. Man, if I was gay, I wouldn't mind joining in on this hot shit."

I immediately got extremely wet. My harem of bisexual pretty boys that included a werewolf, vampire, demon, possessed guy, and a normal human who was a cop would soon expand.

I mean I blushed.

Darren and Eric giggled at the Chief's homoerotic outburst. "You may just yet, lover boy," said Darren. He blinked. "Get to do that, I mean. Because we are loose."

"That's not all that's loose," said Eric, nudging him and winking.

"Ew," said Kit Fisto over her shoulder as she held down the fort.

Soon the trickle of zombies ebbed away and we were left with a room full of corpses. Darren and Eric checked the bodies and made sure no more were coming as me and the Chief went to examine the second generator.

"Good work guys," I said as the two yaoi boys walked up next to us making out. Kit Fisto followed behind them looking sour.

"Let me take care of this," said the Chief, tearing his gayze away from the Darren and Eric's hotness long enough to walk into the generator an overload it. When he did the lights went off for a moment. When they came back on, Darren, Eric, and the Chief were all naked.

"What the hell just happened?" said the Chief, blinking and rubbing his ass.

"Nothing you won't feel next time you sit down, lover boy," said Eric. He laughed his bird laugh and he and Darrren gathered up their clothes.I averted my eyes.

The Chief stared at the aliens as they formed up next to me. "Did I just get raped?"

"Maybe," I said, "but they were guys so it's okay."

"…what?"

"And it's not rape if you enjoy it."

"…what?" The Chief shook his head. "I mean, yes my love. Just so you know that I love only you, no matter how many bisexual trysts I have or orgies I have with you and your werewolf boy toy."

I thought about my on and off again werewolf lover, Bocaj. We often had sex; it was partly to fuel my mystic powers, but mostly because he had a hot bod.

"Okay let's go." Kit Fisto and Darren and Eric followed behind us as we walked towards the door. I opened the door and we walked out the door into the dramatically swirling snow as my favorite Avril Lavigne song, Girlfrfiend, played and we walked in a row towards the land speeder slow motion.

Me and the Chief got into the front seats while the others piled into the back. Kit Fisto sat between Darren and Eric and ignored their constant chattering and gay sex. The car slowly lifted off into the sky as my favorite song by Green Day played and we flew through the air looking cool.

"Chief," I began as the sky car rose into the biting Halo air, snow flakes swirling all around us.

He looked over at me with love in his eyes. "Yeah babe?"

Darren and Eric were talking to each other about penis size.

"Oh Eric, you're such a size queen," said Darren. Kit Fisto vomited off the side of the car.

"You'll never leave me, will you?" I asked the Chief as I cuddled up next to him for warmth.

He put an arm around my shoulder. "No. Nevar."

"Oh shit," said Fisto in the back seat. "Watch out guys, they're about to have sex again."

I blushed. "WE ARE NOT." Darren and Eric laughed.

Suddenly, just as I was unzipping the fly of my leather jump suit, there was a flash of green energy and a huge impact. The side of the land speeder bucked and we flipped over, barely keeping our seats. Smoke poured from a huge hole in the side as a—in a shokc to my mind—a Covenanat banshee zipped over us, firing another fuel rod blast at us. I slammed down on the controls and the car dipped, the shot going wide. Everyone screamed as I remained calm and checked the navigation; the next generator was somewhere in the valley below us.

"We're going down!" I told everyone.

"I don't understand!" screamed the Chief as he grabbed both Darren and Eric's junk for safety. "I thought you were the Queen of the Covenant. Why is that banshee attacking us?"

I frowned, trying to control the ship as it careened towards the fogged ground below. The banshee was hot on our heels, firing plasmas over our bow.

"It has to be Cercil," I said. "He must have betrayed us—betrayed the Covenant, just to get back at me for being better than him and a woman."

Darren and Eric were using their extremely muscular asses to clamp down on the hard leather cushions of the land speeder, keeping them secure to the craft. Kit Fisto spoke up as she casually put her seat belt on. "Can't the Flood fly Banshees to?" she asked calmly.

"No they can't they're zombies, they're not intelligent enough."

"I'm pretty sure they can," piped up Darren.

"EVERYONE CALM DOWN!" I screamed as the ground raced up towards us. "Brace for impact!"

There was a flash of white light, which dimmed to red and then to black. The scream of a banshee overhead rung in my ears.

I opened my eyes. Blearily I could see my friends scattered about the wreckage of the land speeder, tangled and still amongst the drifting snow. I could see Kit Fisto's dark form lying curled in a snow bank, and Darren and Eric tangled together, Eric thrown over a rock and Darren slumping over his back. Nobody moved. My eyes widened and I felt blood trickling from my nose. I felt up to feel it, seeing silver on my finger tips. My blood is silver. I looked around suddenly with shock in my face. Where was the Chief?

_The Chief was dead_. I knew he was dead. With the certainty only a woman can have.

_(A/N: LOL CLIF hNGER ENDING STY TUNED 4 prt 2!")_

I knew it because I could see him curled up a few yards away from me, his scuffed and damaged armor still as he lay there spread eagled like a wounded pup. I doubted he could have survive.. I Inched towards him on the ground, reaching out for my love.

_No, no, he couldn't be dead. NO NO!_ I crawled towards him, the cold snowing burning my face, tearing at my clothing. I could feel snowflakes landing on my burned and exposed back where my jumpsuit had been torn in the crash. I found the Chief curled up in a ball, his armor blackened and covered in ash and blood. There was a gash in the unarmored part of his armor on his stomach, that same stomach I had stroke against so many tim4es while being pentarated by his blood engorge member.

I collapsed over his definitely dead body. "CHIEF!" I shook him. "You have to be alive! Chief I can't live without you!" I collapsed I cried. "Chiiieeef!" Chiiieef!"

All the memories we had shared came rushing back to me. The Chief and I kissing in my bed the first night we had met, the Chief staring at me from across the table, the Chief staring at me in the hall way, the Chief staring at me in the land speeder, the Chief and I having sex in the land speeder three times, the Chief staring at me as he stepped into the generators, the Chief staring at Darren and Eric as they had gay sex. I remembered what he had whispered into my ear the first night we had….been together.

"_I love you."_

I threw my hands up to the cold, uncaring sky above. "NOOoOOOOoOOO!" I collapsed over the Chief's dead body. I wanted to die. "Tak me instead." I mumbled. "TAKE ME!"All I wanted was to be with him, my love, who had died for me like so many other innocent men and women. I didn't deserve his love. I didn't deserve anything.

Suddenly I heard the thump of a banshee landing in the snow behind me.

_No._

Footsteps approached behind me, and a shadow fell over me and the Chief's blackened body.

"Hello Whitania."

I turned slowly. Cercil's grinning face stared down at me.

Rage like I had never felt before filled me. I lurched up right, swinging at him. "You son of a bitch! You killed them all!"

He caught my fist easily with his superior strength because I was wounded.

"You stupid BITCH."

The back hand sent me careening to the ground. His yelling rang in my ears. "I TOLD everyone that a WOMAN was too WEAK to be the QUEEN of the COVENANT but they didn't LISTEN. Now I have to take matters into MY OWN HANDS."

He grabbed me by my hair and pulled me up, facing him, forcing me to face his horrible face with its grinning shark mouth.

"YEAR AFTER YEAR I'VE HAD TO WATCH YOU OUT DO ME AND ALL THE OTHER MEN." I was forced back, towards the wreckage of the car. I forced my eyes to look only at the Chief's body, the will to fight leaving me as if it had been tied to his life because it had been.

"AND THEY ALL BOWED DOWN TO YOU, BUT YOU'RE WEAK AND A WOMAN!"

My back hit the wrecked hull of the car and I felt my teeth rattle. Cercil pushed me back over the charred metal of the husk of the land speeder. He greened with an evil look and expression in his eyes.

"YOU THINK YOU'RE SO SPECIAL WHITANIA!" He roared, slapping me in the face. "YOU FUCKING HUMAN BREEDER WHORE."

Blood oozed from the corner of my mouth. I spat it into his face. "Fuck you Cercil. I know your type—always trying to put women 'in their place' and put them down 'in their place.' You think women are there to serve you, huh? That's all men think. I don't blame them because they're stupid and full of testosterone but you're the worst of them—on of these pigs who thinks he can order a woman around with his fists, who compensates for his tiny dick by forcing women to do his bidding and hating them and trying to hurt them if they try to show any independence or soul and beating down their souls in helpless marriages and making them weak by stealing their strength with constant abuse and—"

"God damn it would you shut the fuck up!" Cercil punched me in the face. I heard something crunch and star filled my eyes. Suddenly he looked different—wrong, somehow.

"I've had enough of this shit you little freak." His hand tightened around my throat. He sounded different, too. I stared into his eyes as he began to choke the life out of me.

"Go to hell."

"Shut up!" the back of my head slammed against the car. Cercil's eyes boiled with rage. "You don't belong _here_. The Chief is mine. These faggots you pretend are your friends—they're mine. You _changed _them, _twisted _them into puppets in your little fantasy. You're worse than _me_."

I smirked. "Oh? And what about your little Star Trek play acting, Cercil?"

Cercil's eyes shot open in surprise. "So you're not completely delusional. You know what you're doing."

"You don't know me, Cercil," I spat. "You don't know the torments I've had to endure. I deserve perfect world to live in. And you, all of you, are going to be part of it."

He scowled. "I don't know how you're doing this, and I don't care. I can ask your brain after I set it on fire."

I heard the hiss of an energy sword. The blade shone above my head, Cercil's fist parting its searing prongs. Out of the corner of my eye I saw something. Something that filled me with hope.

"Are you sure about that?" I asked. I stared hard at Cercil, narrowing my eyes and focusing my thoughts as the concussion faded away from my super fast healing.

"Yes. I—"

Suddenly Cercil's eyes crossed as if he had just been struck by an extremely powerful force. There was a thumping sound as the snow around us was knocked a few inches away by an invisible impact, clearing at tiny icy patch of ground. I broke the gaze.

The energy sword dropped to the ground and Cercil got an evil grin on his face, though blood had begun to ooze out of both his nostrils, eyes, and ears. "FOOLISH WHITANIA!" He held my arms above my head and produced a small knife which he pressed to my throat, stopping me from fighting back. "I HAVE HAD ENOUGH OF YOUR AUDACITY AND DARING DO, you COMMON human STRUMPET!"

I opened my mouth to speak but Cercil slapped me. His gold ring tore my lip and he grabbed me by the shoulders and he hissed, leering, into my ear. I could smell the cheap drink on his breathing and his unwashed wife-beater.

"Presumptuous BREEDER. I will RAPE the FEMINISM out of YOU."

Cold icy horror fear went through me. I had sworn to myself that I would never let this happen again. My body had gone stiff as a board in shock and horror. _NO! NOOOO! NOT AGAIN! _The inner child inside of me qualed and cried out in fear and helplessness.

There was a hissing sound, and a sizzle. I opened my eyes as Cercil slid down my body, slumping into the snow at my feet. Two neat holes had punched through his armor over his heart, his rape eyes staring up at the sky in eternal anger. The Chief was standing in front of me with the energy sword in his hand.

"Chief!" I rushed forwards and embraced him, holding his scorched body tight to mine heaving bossom.

I gasped, shaken and vulnerable from the experience of nearly being raped for the one hundred millionth time in my life. I pressed against the Chief but he did not embrace me back, so I looked up into his scorched visor.

He was staring over my shoulder. "I… I killed him. I killed Cercil." The energy sword was lying a few feet from the Chief where he had dropped it in shock. "He was normal…ish. And he said…and then he _changed _and you did it, didn't you?" He looked down at me. "What are you doing to us?"

I was about to open my mouth to begin to respond but I heard coughing from our right. Darren and Eric were awakening—they were alive! Darren gingerly removed himself from Eric's ass and helped his life partner up. They stumbled closer to us. I also saw Kit Fisto get up and dust herself off, look around, and approach. They confusedly lined up in a circle around us.

"Situation report," I said.

Darren just stared at me. "You…who are you? What have you done to us?" He looked down at where his hand had unconsciously grabbed Eric's ass and frowned, but did not take his hand away.

"What are you talking about?" Had Cercil somehow brainwashed them? "You know me. I'm Whitania."

"I don't know you." Kit Fisto glared at me and reached down to her hip where a plasma pistol was. Her eyes snapped to the Chief and she gasped. "Demon!" The pistol came out, wavering between me and the Chief.

"Guys," I said, focusing on them. "Guys, you know me. I'm the Queen of the Covenant."

Eric snorted. "I thought Darren was the Queen of the Covenant." He stopped and looked up at the Elite. "Uh….dude? Did we just have sex? Like, ten times in the past half hour?" He paused. "My ass hurts."

"There is no Queen of the Covenant," said Kit Fisto. She aimed the pistol at me.

"Whitania," mumbled the Chief. "How could you do something like this to us? I _LOVE _YOU!"

Suddenly a woman's voice came on over the Chief's external speakers. I stared around, confused as to where it was coming from, but then realized it had come from the Chief's external speakers.

"That's where you're wrong, Chief!" said the voice.

"Cortana!" started the Chief.

"Yeah it's me. Get away from that bitch, Chief! She's a monstrous perverted alien parasite—but not like the Flood or like Cercil. They're called Marisoos, and they can influence your mind with pheromones—make you love them or hate them, make you susceptible to their suggestions."

"I remember, I…NO!" the Chief fell to his knees, shaking his head back and forth, clutching his head. "I _LUV HRRRR!_"

Kit Fisto suddenly charged forwards and fired her plasma pistol. Her accusing voice rang in my ears. "DIE FOUL PARASITE!"

My soul went cold—it was true, Cercil had indoctrinated all my friends, and he had used this 'Cortana' to do it. I dodged the plasma bolts easily and kicked Fisto in the side as gently as I could, knocking her over.

"Get her!" roared Darren, brandishing a plasma rifle. He and Eric charged me too.

"This doesn't make any sense!" cried the Chief on the ground.

"Only certain people are immune," explained Cortana in an attempt at a calming voice. I could hear her corrupting influence corrupting him already! "A.I.s, zombies, or other Marisoos all are. There's no time for the Covenant or the generators, Chief, we have to take her down before she can reassert control!"

"I…I can't…" the Chief reached out for, and I reached out for him but couldn't get to him because I had to finish kicking Darren and Eric's gay asses. They crashed to the snow, rolling in agony just like Kit Fisto.

The Chief let out a roar of sudden agony and his grasping, loving reach turned into a punch. I dodged it easily, then took out his arm and kicked him onto his side. He collapsed and I put a foot onto his neck.

"Chief," I said, "you have to control yourself. Cortana and Cercil are working together. Look into my eyes! I lOVE YU!"

The Chief's hands scrabbled at my rock hard boot. "I-I-no!"

A shadow fell over me. I whirled, but it was too late. Huge iron hands clamped down over my biceps and lifted me into the air. A pleasant voice came from behind me.

"Sorry about this Whitania."

It was Oz! I felt tears spring to my eyes; Cercil had corrupted him too with his lies, as well.

I tried to turn to look into his small eyes but his grip was too tight even for me. The Chief stood up unsteadily and picked up Kit Fisto's discarded energy pistol.

"NO!" I screamed. "Chief—you can't do this to me! I LOVE YOU!"

He raised the pistol. "I'm sorry," he said. "Good bye."

I closed my eyes. "Fine. If that's the way it as to be, then that's the way it has to be; I never wanted this, you know. Ever since I was born I've been cursed by the goddess Aphrodite to be eternally beautiful and to have the power of a thousand hawks. People followed me and I never understood why, never understood what commanded their loyalty and their love. When I fought to survive on the streets and looked up into the heavens I wondered what was up there, if there was a god. But I have since come to realize that there is no god. No god would allow so much suffering in the world, no god would allow so many to sacrifice thereselves on my behalve. I'm not worth it. I'm not worth the sacrifice. I wish I could just…stop being beautiful—it's a fucking _curse_."

I looked up. The Chief had not fired, though the pistol was still pointed at me. As I spoke, Darren and Eric and Kit Fisto all slowly got up, looking around dazedly and then smiling at me sympathetically, offering their hands on my shoulders in encouragement. Oz's grip on my arms turned into a angsty, mournful clasping of my shoulders as he stood behind me, offering the constant support of a friend who had never left my side.

"It's not your fault, girlfriend," said Darren, smiling vacantly as blood oozed from all his orifices at once.

"Yeah," said Eric. His eyes had rolled all the way up into his head. "My ass really hurts."

"I don't know why I hated you," said Kit Fisto, who was shaking violently. "I..I think I was just jealous."

I reached out to my Covenant friends. "Thank you all. You are all such good friends to me." I turned to the Chief and reached out a hand, smiling like the goddess that I was.

"Won't you join us?" I asked.

The Chief's hand trembled on the pistol. Slowly, he began to lower it.

"I…I…I…."

He fell to his knees before me.

"I LOVE—"

When Lieutenant Oreo Crème's fist struck the side of Whitania Drakensang's head there was a sound like a watermelon full of pebbles smashing against a brick wall. Whitania spun away in a confused arc, blood flying in a bright crimson half circle from the ruptured skin over her perfect cheek bone.

"Bitch," grated Lieutenant Oreo into the shocked silence that followed. "Go back to Fawkes."

Whitania slammed face first down into the snow and lay there, stiff as a board.

All at once the spell was broken. Darren and Eric blinked and looked down at their hands, even though their hands had nothing to do with anything. Kit Fisto stared at Oreo in utter surprise as Oz fell over backwards in a woozy stupor.

"COOKIE!" The Chief ran at the Lieutenant and picked her up in a huge bear hug that almost broke her spine. "Cookie you're all right!" He looked her over at arm's length. "Cercil didn't kill you did he?"

Oreo glanced over at Cercil's body, around which (more) flies had begun to gather. "No. Just yelled obscenities into my face." She looked back. "Why is there stubble on your helmet?"

"I knew he was fronting," said the Chief happily and kissed her through his visor, which was technically a head butt. Oreo didn't mind.

"It's good to see you Chief," she said.

Cortana sniffed audibly.

"Shut up Cortana," said the Chief mildly. "Yes, it's good to see you too Oreo."

Oreo shook her head. "No time, Chief. We have to do something about the Marisoo before—"

They turned. Whitania's body had disappeared.

"Uh oh."

"Hold it right there humans." It was Commander Darren. The other Covenant had assembled behind him, and he was pointing a plasma rifle at the Chief. Halo's harsh winter sun glared off his golden armor and he had a determined expression on his face.

The Chief sighed. "Really Darren? After all we've been through?"

Oreo looked worried; she had no weapons. Neither did the Chief.

"What happened was regrettable," conceded Darren as Eric continued to shovel snow into his own ass. He glanced at the Jackal. "Well, most of it." The Chief and Oreo looked at each other.

"What should we do with the humans?" asked Kit Fisto rather pointedly.

Darren shook his head. "Oh, right. Um…kill them." He aimed his rifle at the Chief's head.

"That seems kind of unfair," rumbled Oz. "They just saved our asses. In some cases literally."

Darren narrowed his eyes at the Chief. "With the demon dead, this operation may yet be salvageable." He glanced over to where Cercil's dead body was. "I won't need a fall guy anymore."

Oz laughed nervously. "Are you sure about that?"

"Oh Darren," said Cercil's dead body as it stood up and dusted itself off. "You're such a slimy prick."

Commander Darren's eyes almost popped out of his head. "What the _fuck_?" His voice cracked.

"That tends to happen," said Oz apologetically as Eric finally keeled over with a look of relief on his face, a huge stalactite worth of ice jammed up his butt. Kit Fisto face palmed and Oreo and the Chief looked at each other again.

Cercil leered. "I can tell you're all happy to see your _true leader_."

"No no!" Darren waved his finger back and forth. "That's enough of that. You're not the fleet master—you never were. I'm revoking the fake command you never had and placing you under military type arrest. Covenant medicine is one thing but nobody survives getting poked like that with a plasma sword; we need to get you onto an operating table and figure out just what the fuck is going on."

"We could do that," said Cercil. "Or you could elect me to be in charge." He looked at the other Covenant and grinned. "Show of hands—who wants me to be in charge?"

Nobody raised their hand. Kit Fisto rather pointedly gave a thumbs down.

Cercil looked at Oz. "E tu, Ozzy?"

"Look," said Oz, "that talking ant guy is dead. The only reason I ever helped you was because he told me to." He shrugged. "Sorry."

Darren glared at the hunter. "You'll explain what the fuck that means later." He pointed his plasma rifle from the Chief and Oreo to Cercil. "Fisto," he ordered, "arrest that man. Oz, Eric, execute the humans."

"Now!" screamed the Chief. He launched himself at Darren mid sentence and grabbed for the plasma rifle. At the same instant Oreo dove for the dropped energy sword in the snow by Cercil's feet, and at the very same time as that Oz fired his fuel rod canon. The blob of green energy smashed into the ground where the two humans had been seconds before. An eruption of searing green energy sizzled through the cold air and washed over the wreckage of Whitania's land speeder.

The Chief wrenched the plasma rifle out of Darren's grip and punched him in the solar plexus. The Elite staggered back, clutching at his chest and gasping for air. At the same moment Oreo snatched for the plasma sword but stopped short when Cercil's foot came down on it.

"Hey," he said, reaching for her as the butt plug lodged in the side of his head glimmered menacingly. "That's mine."

A bolt of purple shot through the air and smashed into the side of Cercil's face, spinning him around. Oreo grabbed the sword and turned to see Kit Fisto lining up another shot with a long sea shell-like Covenant weapon; a beam rifle.

"Ow! My face!" Cercil fell squirming onto the ground as Oreo dove for cover. A dozen feet away the Chief clubbed Darren over the head with his own plasma rifle and then ducked just in time to avoid a swipe from Oz's massive shield.

Oreo dodged another shot from the beam rifle. Poking her head around the corner of Cercil's banshee she saw another green blob of energy rushing towards her, this time an overcharge. She rolled out of cover just before the blast heated the hull of the ship to unbearable levels. But Kit Fisto had been waiting for her; a bolt of purple crystal slammed dead center into Oreo's enormous breast plate, flipping her over backwards to land stunned in the heavy snow.

"Oreo!" the Chief screamed as he grappled with Oz in a test of strength, trying to tip each other over like horny beetles. Commander Darren lay unconscious on the ground.

"I'm okay!" called out Oreo as she sat up. Kit Fisto's beam rifle had overheated and was now spewing purple exhaust fumes. Oreo scrambled for the wreckage of the land speeder, which was slightly closer to her attackers.

"Plasma out!" roared Fisto as she flung a flaring blue orb at Oreo's position. The Spec Ops Elite dove for cover behind Eric just as the Jackal's shield flared to life and he slammed it down into the ground like an impromptu barricade.

The plasma grenade landed right in front of Cercil's face. He parted blood covered fingers to stare blearily at the glowing orb.

"Oh, fucking cow cocks."

Boom! Whitania's ship was blasted across the canyon, the Lieutenant burying herself into the snow as it flew a hair over her head. The blast was too far away to reach the Chief or Oz, but it was not too far away for Cercil's flaming body to smash into them at mach one hundred. All three went tumbling to the ground in a tangle of limbs and snow.

Kit Fisto peeked over the edge of Eric's shield and spotted Oreo just getting up. Carefully, she raised her rifle and lined up a shot. Oreo saw the rifle's muzzle aimed at her and froze. The Chief looked up from beneath Oz's gigantic armored butt plate, which had crushed him into the ground.

"Oreo! No-"

The world erupted into a storm of explosive impacts that raced across the blank snowy canyon, tearing up mud and ice on their way straight for Kit Fisto. Eric held his shield above his head, sheltering him and the Spec Ops elite from the barrage of bullets. The bullets trailed off and the sound of a chain gun winding down drew the attention of those still conscious as an enormous Pelican drop ship bobbed like a big brown dingle berry out of the sun. A voice screeched over its loud speakers.

"WHAT'S UUUUUP NIGGAS!"

"God damn it boy!" called a familiar voice from behind the roaring chain gun, which was poking out of the open bay door. "I told you that is _our _word!"

The Chief threw Oz onto Cercil, then got up and jumped up and down, waving at the drop ship. "OH MY GOD! That you, Sergeant Johnson!"

"Aw yeah," came the black Sergeant's dark chocolaty tones. "That me, baby."

"I thought you were dead!"

The Pelican set itself heavily down in the snow a dozen feet away. Sergeant Johnson-looking healthy and as black as ever-fired a few shots to keep Eric and Fisto suppressed and then waved at the Chief.

"No time for that now ya jive turkey," he boomed, pointing at Oreo. "Sista—get yo ass in here!"

Oreo ran over and climbed into the Pelican. She grinned at the Sergeant. "I see you decided to switch your slang from what you learned watching _The Wire_ to what you learned watching old blaxploitation films."

The Chief pulled himself into the Pelican as Johnson continued to fire on the Covenant, all of whom had awoken and had raced for shelter behind the wrecked wreckage of Whitania's land speeder and Cercil's banshee. The banshee's owner was nowhere in sight.

"Shit!" the Chief slammed a fist against the side of the Pelican.

Oreo turned to him. "What's wrong?"

"I forgot about the last generator. I have to shut it off, or Guilty Spark will activate Halo!"

"Who?"

"No time to explain, bimbo," piped up Cortana. "Suffice to say if the Chief doesn't take out the generator we're all screwed."

The Chief pointed at the door in the side of the canyon a hundred yards away. "It's through there—don't wait for me. Get to the Truth and Reconciliation, find Keyes and get his neural implant. I'll meet you back at the Pillar of Autumn to blow the world up."

"Blow the—"Oreo gaped at him. "What the hell are you—"

"Good luck." The Chief high fived Sergeant Johnson and jumped back out of the Pelican. The black Sergeant nodded and covered the Chief's dash for the tall triangular door as Oreo watched in horror.

"There goes one straight up G," said Johnson solemnly. He put a hand over his heart while continuing to pound the Covenant with bullets. He turned and yelled over his shoulder. "Tad! Get us the fuck out of here!"

"Wait!" cried Oreo.

Johnson looked sadly at her. "We can't wait for the Chief."

"Yeah I know," said Oreo grimly. She grabbed an assault rifle from a rack and shouted out into the swirling snow at the Spartan's retreating back. "HEY CHIEF!"

The Chief stopped and turned as Oreo threw the rifle. It spun through the air like a deadly boomerang and the Chief stuck his hand into the air and grabbed it. The firm slap of the weapon's grip into his palm echoed throughout the canyon. The Chief saluted her and then turned back towards the door.

"Nice pitch," said Johnson as the Pelican rose steadily into the air. Soon the snow obscured everything and he stopped firing. They could hear the shouts of the Covenant and a few plasma bolts flew wide of the ship.

"Yeah," said Oreo. "I just hope…"

Johnson sat down in one of the seats across from her. "Yeah?"

Oreo groaned. "I just hope that the rifle was loaded."

Once the Chief was through the snow speckled gateway he turned and used a confiscated plasma grenade to fuse its locks shut; he didn't want the Covenant following him inside. The facility was darker than the ones that had come before, and also slightly larger. He trekked through a dim and winding corridor past rows of bright arrow shaped lights.

"Strange alien technology," said the Chief, looking at an arrow that was pointing down the hallway. "I wonder what it means."

"Hm," mused Cortana. "It could be—no, no that's too crazy even to consider." She paused dramatically. "It could be…_an arrow_."

The Chief opened another door and found himself in a circular room. He could detect the faint blue glow of the last generator through the patterned holes in the wall around the main chamber.

"What, you mean like an arrow from a bow?"

"No," Cortana husked. "I mean like an arrow. A _directional arrow_."

"No. No, that's crazy!" the Chief stroked the stubble that had been growing on the chin of his helmet.

"Is it?" asked Cortana quickly. "Because that's what I think is going on here."

"This is madness. You've gone too far this time." The Chief turned a corner into the generator room and stopped short.

Cercil Saltstein was standing right next to the generator, its faint blue light casting mauve refractions across his scarred, necrotic alien visage. He no longer resembled a Covenant Elite so much as a tangle of mismatched limbs, prosthetics, bandages, and horrifyingly jagged surgical braces. The fairly large demonic wings sprouting from his back had been packed into blackened, cracked armor and the horns protruding from his brow would have looked at home on a ram.

It was the first time the Chief had ever really seen Cercil—_really_ seen him, past the haze of adrenaline and raging stupidity.

"…the fuck_."_

"My thoughts exactly," said Cortana.

There was a squelching sound and a spurt of what appeared to be liquefied brains ejaculated from around the large black butt plug jammed into the side of Cercil's skull. The alien adjusted it and glared at the Chief.

"Nice to see you too, Chief."

"Actually I'm kind of surprised to see you, considering that so far you've been smashed over the head, thrown down a hole, submerged in lava, had the shit beaten out of you, been shot in the head, stabbed in the spine and heart _at the same time _and had a grenade detonated right next to your face. Not to mention about five hundred other deadly injuries."

"I've been thinking about that," conceded Cercil as the smell of formaldehyde wafted from him. He took a step closer to the Chief. "And I have a few ideas."

The Chief raised his rifle. "Yeah, well make it snappy; I have a generator to stick my MJOLNER dick into."

"Trust me, you'll want to give me your complete attention," said Cercil, taking another step forwards. "Haven't you wondered, Chief, why we share our dreams? I have. Haven't you noticed that as you slowly recover from that gigantic bout of brain damage you suffered from the cryo chamber, I become more intelligent as well? I have. Haven't you noticed how the more monstrous, bigoted and cruel you act, the more powerful I become—more so than when anyone else does. Or how the more time you spend with that Oreo bitch, the weaker I become? Because I have. Or perhaps you've taken note of the fact that until the day you arrived at Halo, I did not _exist_ in the Covenant military database? That I still _don't_? I have."

"Oh my god…" the Chief gasped. "You're a hallucination!"

Cortana snorted. "No. Everyone else can see him, numb nuts."

The Chief held up a finger. "Mass hysteria!" he said wisely.

"_I'm _a computer," countered Cortana. "He's standing right there."

Cercil continued. "No, I'm real. I can think, and remember. And do you know what I don't remember?" The Elite took another step towards the Chief.

He backed away. Their walking had switched their places halfway; the Chief was almost all the way to the generator. "Oh yeah? What's that?"

"I don't remember where I come from. I don't remember anything, anything before the cryo chamber back on the Pillar of Autumn _where you pulled me from out of thin air_."

"It was so long ago" hissed the Chief. "Like, literally years ago! I had almost forgotten."

"What's your favorite food, Chief?" asked Cercil.

"Dicks."

"Yesss." Cercil clenched his fist. "And Dicks Barbeque Burgers are my favorite food as well, second only to people's bodies. And bagels. What's your favorite number?"

"69."

"Your favorite color?"

The Chief gasped. "Purple."

"Your favorite flavor of ice cream?"

"Pumpkin!"

"Your favorite band!" bellowed Cercil.

The Chief clutched at his head in horror. "Lady GaGaaaaa!"

"Your favorite _person_," hissed Cercil.

Horrible realization dawned. "O-Oreo…"

Cercil spread his hands. "All mine, as well. Except for Lady GaGa—that one is because you're gay. I prefer The Biebes."

"And what about Oreo?"

"She will be mine!" said Cercil insanely. Lightening flashed. "But I want to kill even the people I like. _Especially_ the people I like."

"Ha!" the Chief crossed his arms but continued to walk backwards. "Well that's nothing like me."

"Is it?" Cercil smirked, following him. "Because I think, deep down inside, that is exactly like you. You are a killer, born and raised and trained to be a walking slaughter house, the perfect soldier—no friends, no master. Your only allegiance is to death. And to bagels."

The Chief's back bumped into one of the generator's large flanges. He clutched it for support, staring as the Elite approached. "NO! Not bagels! I'm nothing like you!"

Cercil stopped half a dozen feet away and grinned, ghastly blue light shining in his eyes. "Chief…I _am _you."

_IMPERIAL MARCH: _Dun dun dun da dun dun, da dun dun, dun dun dun da dun dun, da dun dun!

"Oh my god!" exclaimed Cortana.

"THAT'S NOT TRUE!" screamed the Chief in utter horror. He clutched at the large flange. "THAT'S IMPOSSIBLE!"

Dun da da dun da da dun a dun, dun da dun da dunna dun dun da dun dun da dun.

"Search your heart—you know it to be true. I don't know how, or why. But it _is_." Cercil extended a hand. "_Join—_or, _re_join me Chief, and together we can rule without the Covenant, without Humanity. Just think of the power we could have!" Cercil's eyes had a mad gleam to them. "Two sides of the same coin—a coin made of exploding bodies and race hate. We would be unstoppable."

"I'll never join you!" spat the Chief. "NEVER! I HATE YOU!"

"I hate you too," agreed Cercil. "But is it _me_ you hate, or is it the side of you that I embody?"

"I'm pretty sure it's you."

Cercil only grinned. "I cannot die, Chief, because as long as you live I must live. I am you. You are me. We are meant to be one!" Suddenly he lunged forwards, claws outstretched.

"NOOO!" the Chief fell backwards into the generator. There was a sudden surge of power and a flash as the machine died, cutting off the only source of light in the room. Darkness fell and all was silent.

"Join me—" hissed Cercil's voice in the blackness. "And you can have your penis back."

DUN DUN DUN DA DUN DUN DA DUN DUN, NE NE NEEE NA NE NE NA NE NEEE!


	20. Chapter 9 One of Two

(I accidentally uploaded the sixth chapter in place of this one. Thanks to ADrunkCanadian for alerting me.)  
I'm not going to step on your dick with whiny, negative, self-indulgent excuses as to why I haven't updated since the time of the dinosaurs. What I am going to do is tell you this: shit is about to go down. The tenth chapter will pull out all the fucking stops. It will be the most disgusting, horrific, offensive, insane, and borderline nonsensical chapter in this entire story. Be fucking prepared. (Oh, and check out Bastard Effect for more of the same bullshit.)

_But before we get to that…_

Chapter Nine

**Taking back the Truth and Reconciliation**

**Or**

**Filler**

"Me and some other brothas and sistas found ah selfs ridin' some donkeys through the woods, aight, and we happened upon the very same closet that we had first used to enter the mother fucking magical land of Negronia. So we went back through the closet and shit and found ah selves, young again, back in the old mansion with old man McGrubnuts. The end."

"Okay. Okay." Oreo considered the black Sergeant as the night darkened sea rushed past outside the Pelican's bay door. "But how did you regroup with us? The Butte was destroyed."

"Ain't cho been listenin' ya jive turkey?" grumbled Johnson. "Tad the Pouser Pilot here was so desperate to be one of my bruthas, he picked his Pelican up from the dealership and shipped us on over—it took hours scouring the area of the Chief's last transmission for us to find him."

"Your accent is slipping." Oreo turned to the cockpit (so sexist!) "What about you Tad?" she asked cheerfully. "I'm pretty sure you're supposed to have died fifteen times!"

"Maaan I'm sick off all you white breads assuming that _jus_' because I have the same or similar name as all fifteen of my dead brothers that I'm the exact same as them. Yo' disrespectin the dead nigga!"

"How many brothers do you have?"

"I had fifteen when we got to this ring. The other one hundred and forty eight were on Reach and they got killed by the Covenant…" He cleared his throat. "It was on that day, the day that Reach fell, that I swore revenge on all aliens and people who look different from me."

Oreo nodded solemnly and turned back to Johnson. "That's great. Let's rewind, though. Why were you in old Mister McGrubnut's mansion in the first place?"

The Sergeant grunted. "What I say bitch? Our parents died in terrible accidental fire and their will gave us over to Old Man McGrubscrotum as wards! Keep it real, shorty!" The Sergeant removed his green cap, revealing his buzz cut and the tribal designs shaved into it. "That's when I got marked up like this. Marked for life, shorty. Marked for life. I'm hard now."

"Won't the hair grow back?" asked Oreo. "Why not just get a tattoo?"

Johnson's eyes narrowed. "Am I going to have to slap a bitch?"

Oreo smiled cheerfully at him. "Johnson. I will break you."

"Tch." Johnson jerked his chin back. "I'll let that one go, Shorty. This time."

"You're a modern day saint."

"Original G."

"God damn it." Oreo stood up and went to the gun rack. She procured an assault rifle for herself and looked over her shoulder. "What kind of gun do you want, Johnson? The Truth and Reconciliation will kind of tight quarters—lots of corners, lots of dead ends. I'd recommend—"

"Got any gats bitch?" he interrupted.

Oreo threw a pistol at his head, which Johnson caught and aimed gansta style. "Sheeet. Guess this'll do."

"You are such a faggot," said Oreo. She winced. "Damn it! The Chief must be rubbing off on me." She frowned at unbidden memories that suddenly arose from the word 'rubbing off.'

_Oreo was tossing and turning restlessly in her cell aboard the Truth and Reconciliation, trying to sleep as in the corner Corporal McKay listened to Linkin Park and cut herself morbidly._

_ "Would you stop that please?" asked Oreo as she rolled onto her side._

_ "Fuck you. Fuck you all." McKay's eyes rolled into the back of her head as she sunk the rusty razor deep into her forearm. "Fuck…everyone."_

_ Suddenly the cell's force field deactivated and Cercil Saltstein stuck his deformed head in. "Heya softcore prison bitches. Not trying to go to sleep, are you? Because I'm torturing you with sleep deprivation. Also, as soon as the shipment of panty hoses arives from High Charity, well, let's just say we're going to step up the torture. I hear panty hose on head technology all the rage nowadays among prison faggots and-" _

_ "JESUS CHRIST WOULD YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP" Oreo threw her shoe at him._

"Hmm." Oreo pinched the bridge of her nose in thought. _Faggots. _A strange thought occurred to her. _He said that just like the Chief said—_no, no that was ridiculous. The two were nothing alike: Cercil was violent, racist, homophobic, misogynistic—

"Oh." Oreo rubbed her temples. "Yeah, okay." She filed the observation away for later, possible to finally understand at a later date in a dramatic moment when it would already be too late_._

I did it thirty five minutes ago.

"What's up shorty?" barked Johnson, startling Oreo from her revere.

Oreo looked up at him. "Nothing. Just thinking about my time in the brig—the brig of the ship we're going back to right now, in fact."

"Ah." Johnson nodded wisely. "Got down on the dl didn't you?

"What?"

"The Down Low." He shook his head ruefully. "Shorty…thinking about it is like trippin; when you're free—you think, 'hey, I would never force a nigga to suck my ass while pounding a nigga in the ass and jerking a nigga off at the same time while taping a picture of yo bitch to his ass.' But once you're on the inside, sista, once yo' _hard_, well…it gets lonely." He shuddered. "And it is so very cold at night."

"You sound like you have a lot of experience with the down low, Johnson."

Johnson ignored her and radioed the cock pit. "Hey Tad, are we there yet?"

"Fo shizzle mah nizzle," confirmed the pilot.

"Tad," began Oreo "a lot of people have died since we got to this ring." She tried not to think about the fact that the Chief had been the main reason for this. "How many brothers of yours are left?"

"_None_," said Tad raggedly, his fo-ghetto accent slipping. "_I am forever alone_."

"Don't worry. We'll get off this Ring yet."

They all shared a moment of peace. Johnson put his hand on Oreo's shoulder and nodded solemnly. "Fine words, shorty."

"Yeah," Tad's voice broke on the radio. "Yeah. We're coming up on the Truth and Reconciliation now, guys. Captain Keyes is somewhere on the bridge! Let's give it our best shot!"

"That's the spirit!" Oreo and Johnson fist bumped while inside the cockpit Tad gave a slow salute to his sweat soaked brow, showing his respect to all the fallen brothers and sisters who had died since the Pillar of Autumn landed on Halo.

"_Let's do this."_

A banshee piloted by a Flood combat form smashed into the Pelican at a hundred and twenty miles per hour. The impact sent both vessels careening into the Truth and Reconciliation's open hanger in a shower of flames and debris. Oreo and Johnson were smashed together painfully and then tossed about like pin balls as the Pelican's side slapped against the walkway overlooking the hanger. It flipped over and fell in a cloud of shredded metal to land upside down atop a wraith tank. A noise like the opening of some metal hell filled their ears, leaving only a ringing silence when it passed. In seconds a bright blue plasma fire flared to life beneath the wreckage; the wraith's reactor core had gone critical. The hull of the Pelican began to heat, its insides slowly transforming into a hellish oven.

Oreo coughed herself awake from the smell of burning flesh filling her nostrils. She opened her eyes onto a world suffused in blood red light; the emergency lights of the Pelican had bathed everything in their hellish glow. The metal grating, what had been the top bullhead, was now searingly hot under her hands. Her lungs were on fire.

The Lieutenant wincingly pushed herself to her feet. From what she could see of the bulkhead she knew the cockpit was a crumpled mass of twisted metal—nothing inside could have survived the impact. She gritted her teeth and turned away, searching for Johnson. The bay door of the Pelican had buckled inwards a bit and it looked jammed. She found him splayed on the ground, his leg twisted and mangled. His hair was beginning to smoke. Oreo took a deep breath of air and plunged forwards, shoving both hands under his arm pits and pulling him up. The hot floor squeaked and groaned under her feet as she pulled him across it towards the cockpit.

"TAD!" She shouted into the shredded mass the forward portion of the ship had become as she propped Johnson's limp body into a chair. "Tad are you in there!"

Movement caught her eye. Buried under a heavy metal slab was a charred but still somehow very white form.

"Niggas…" groaned the charred form before her, straining to push off the red hot industrial size architectural girder. Both his arms snapped off in a shower of sparks.

"Oh god." Oreo looked away for a moment. "Tad," she whispered with increasing urgency. "We need you to open the bay door. If you don't, we all die." She paused, "I'm sorry, Tad. I don't think you're coming with us."

"I understand." Tad's stumpy arms blindly fumbled at the controls. His eyes had already burned away.

"It's over there," added Oreo. "The button is over there. To the left. There. No, go back. Yeah. No, back. Go left. Yes. Yes that's right."

Tad's blackened arm stump thumped down on the big red button. Oreo heard the pelican bay door groaning as it strained to open. She looked back at Tad's dying body.

"Tad…" she began quietly. "I'm sorry we never knew you."

"GO!" he coughed. "GET OUTTA HERE, BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE!"

Oreo turned away but did not move.

"You get outta here!" Tad insisted. "And…and tell Johnson that all I ever wanted was for him to be proud of me!"

Oreo moved, nodding silently as she helped Johnson. She dragged him towards the Pelican's slowly opening bay door. "Open god damn it!" She kicked at the quickly heating slab of metal again and again, her armored combat boots cracking against the hot steel as sweat and tears stung her eyes. With a sudden crash the bay door slammed open, revealing the smoke choked hanger full of looming mechanical shapes. Without looking back Oreo stumbled through the smoking portal, taking Johnson with her.

Tad watched her go as a single tear fell from his eyes socket.

"_Lift off."_

The wraith tank beneath the pelican exploded with the force of ten thousand plasma grenades, shearing the pelican in half in a gout of molten steel. Oreo and Johnson were thrown to cover behind a line of unused ghosts and banshees as huge tentacle-like tongues of blue plasma licked at their heels. The blast of compressed air made every vehicle in the hanger rock back and a sound like an exploding sun shattered all the glass in the room, though there was no actual glass in the room. Huge globules of red hot sludge splattered on random surfaces as the survivors huddled beneath the wings of a ghost for shelter, managing to avoid the deadly debris.

Oreo tried to catch her breath but it was as if all the air had been ripped out of her body. She gasped, waving smoke away, and became dimly aware that Sergeant Johnson was coughing too.

"Johnson! You okay?"

She propped him up against the ghost.

"I...I can't feel my leg."

Oreo looked down. Johnson's legs appeared fine, which was odd considering one of them had just been broken. Had she imagined it in the gloom?

"My third leg," said Johnson.

Oreo groaned inwardly, but what came out of her mouth was: "Tad is dead."

"I know." Johnson reached up as if to adjust his cap, but it was no longer there. His hand dropped dejectedly into his lap. "I know. I was awake the whole time."

Oreo slumped back. "Why didn't you make me carry-"

Johnson turned quickly away from her. "Why do you think, Oreo? I couldn't _face_ him. The kid was like a son to me. What he said—how was I supposed to answer that?"

"You could have said something." Oreo smacked her hand into the ground. Her finger tips were numb. "God damn it Johnson—the kid died thinking you hated him."

Johnson's shoulders shook. "But…but I _did_. Don't you see...I didn't hate him because he thought he was black. I hated him because even though he was the whitest son of a bitch on the planet, he was still _blacker than me_."

"God damn it." Oreo shook her head. "God damn it!" Her knuckles bit into the purple hull of the ghost. She raised a bleeding fist to the air.

"GOD DAMN IT!"

There was a gurgling sound behind her. She turned.

Something huge and yellow hauled itself over the top of a wraith tank and bore down on them. It was a Flood Combat form, covered in burns and missing half its upper body. It was the pilot of the banshee that had crashed into them!

Oreo's eyes narrowed and she reached for her rifle. It wasn't there—they had left their weapons in the pelican!

"Johnson! Get your gat out!"

Johnson shot bolt upright, turning to see the threat approaching. "MUTHA FUCK! I left the mother fucking gat on the mother fucking plane!"

"Shit!" Oreo grabbed Johnson by the arm and hauled him out of the way as the Flood forms tendrils smacked down like a huge fleshy whip, snapping the ghost they had hidden behind into two. They sprinted towards the exit, the monster's shadow fast on their backs. Oreo's boobs made her bounce off the door.

Johnson waved frantically at the motion sensor. "It's not working nigga! We're trapped in here with that thing!"

Oreo wheeled around as the Combat Form lurched towards them, gait slowed by the damage its bone structure had suffered during the crash. Oreo stared—it had once been human, once been a man.

"Quickly," she said. "We need weapons—we need—"

"There's nothing!" sobbed Johnson hysterically. "Game over man! Game over!"

"No!" Oreo grabbed him and started to move, trying to get past before the beast could corner them. The horrible smell of wet paper bags and also rotting flesh filled her nostrils. She stopped in her tracks.

Half burned silver hair adorned the bare chest of the Flood form. It had no head, but there was more silver hair on its forearms. The remnants of silky silver fatigues had been burned into its flesh, and a puff of silver pubic trail was visible on its stretched stomach.

Oreos mouth dropped open as the re-animated corpse of Major Silva raised its gnarled, tentacular arm above its head and lurched forwards to attack.

A blast of light and sound came out of nowhere and tore Silva's entire torso off, leaving only a wagging spinal column draped in ribbons of putrid flesh. Coagulated blood along with chunks of organs and bones sprayed everywhere, and then a boot kicked the wobbling lower half of the zombie squarely in the crotch. The dismembered pair of legs were knocked clean off their feet.

Private Mendoza stepped casually in front of Oreo and Johnson, a smoking shotgun slung over his shoulder. He winked.

Oreo stared. Johnson stared.

Mendoza's smile drooped. "What? Oh, right." He looked down at the corpse. "Didn't your mother every tell you not to go outside…_topless_?" He shook his head. "No, wait. Uh…"

Oreo interrupted him. "I saw you get shot directly in the head. How the hell are you still alive?"

Mendoza considered this for a moment, sucking his lip. He shrugged. "Because there are still men alive who I haven't had sex with?"

Johnson sniffed. "If only…if only Tad had been an immortal homosexual."

Mendoza eyed the Sergeant, the cold calculation that had determined the logistics of countless reach-arounds kicking into high gear. His voice became husky. "Oh yeah?"

Oreo moved to cut short this exchange before it became any more penetrating. "Never mind that Mendoza; we just lost one hell of a pilot—and a friend. And we would have lost ourselves, I mean died, if you hadn't come along. Thanks."

"No problem. I'm sorry to hear that." Mendoza pursed his lips as he handed the smoking shotgun to Sergeant Johnson and produced two smgs from a back pack, giving one to Oreo and keeping one for himself. He grinned at Johnson. "I figured a big boy like you would want to handle the big gun."

"Damn right homeslice." Johnson obliviously threw up west side. "I mean, shit, you can pump that boomstick all right but for serious you gotta let the man with the plan take over, you know what I'm saying?"

Mendoza curled a lock of curly Mexican hair around his finger and squirmed in delight. "Oh, I think I do."

"I think you don't." Oreo checked the safety on her smg and snapped her fingers, drawing the attention of the two hilarious minorities. LOL THE NIGRAS AND THE MEXICA "Guys let's go; we have to make sure that Tad's sacrifice wasn't in vain. The Chief is counting on us to find Captain Keyes and get a hold of his neural implant."

"Oh is that why we're here?" Johnson looked around confusedly. "I thought we were going to clean out the Aryan Brotherhood or something."

Oreo gritted her teeth and turned to Mendoza, a thought occurring to her. "Why are you here, anyways? Last time I saw you was on the butte. Kit Fisto shot you point blank between the eyes and you died." She glanced around at the empty hanger with an increasingly worried look. "This isn't hell, is it?"

"Why would you assume I would go to hell?" asked Mendoza.

Johnson's lips immediately inflated with rage. "Yeah _BITCH! _WUH? JUS' COS HE NOT WHYTE YO THINK HE SOME SORTA ANIMAL?" He raised both fists, middle fingers extended. "FUCK YOU HONKEY!"

Oreo winced, shrinking into herself as her political correctness gland strained under the pressure to secret such enormous amounts of white guilt so quickly. It failed and she turned on Johnson, pale face igniting with rage. "You know what, Johnson?" She raised a hand. "I have had it _up to fucking here_ with your fucking shit. I don't have time for your fucking racial identity crisis. Who the fuck doesn't find out they're black until they're like, what, thirty eight fucking years old? Sit the fuck down, shut the fuck up, and let the fucking adults with fucking priorities handle the fucking _business_." Oreo lunged forwards and pushed Johnson back a good five feet. He stumbled to regain his balance, Mendoza catching him from behind.

Dead silence fell as Johnson stared at her. He unconsciously stepped away from Mendoza with a look of consternation on his face. "Jeez sorry, I didn't mean anything by it."

Mendoza frowned. "What was that, Johnson?"

"Huh? Oh." The black Sergeant cleared his throat. "I mean, my bad shorty; I was just playin'." He grinned weakly and extended a hand to Oreo."We cool?"

Oreo was hyperventilating, staring at him as sweat dripped down the bridge of her nose. Her face looked like a white hot skillet. She blinked bloodshot eyes as if coming out of a trance.

"Yeah, fine, fucking whatever." She straightened up and stormed towards the door

Mendoza jogged after her. "Wow girlfriend. That was…intense. I've never seen you fly off the handle like that. "

Oreo ignored him and waved at the motion detectors. This time for some reason the Covenant technology recognized the presence of living beings and slid open, revealing a purple canal of a corridor that could easily have been the inside of Cortana's junk. This comforting thought encouraged Oreo to step inside and the two men to follow her. Well, one and a half men: Mendoza considered himself to have a boy pussy, as we in the gay porn industry like to say. Not that I'm in the porn industry, gay or otherwise, or that my screen name is Duke Rootem.

Oreo raised her rifle and watched the corners as Johnson and Mendoza formed up nervously behind her, watching her as warily as the shadows of the alien ship. The gay marine continued to talk. "I mean, I know the Chief can be annoying sometimes and so can Johnson—no offense Johnson—"

"It's cool."

"But you seem really on edge. What's wrong?"

Oreo held up a hand. "Quiet you two; I hear something."

"Covenant?" husked Johnson. "Or the KKK?"

"For the last time we're not hunting down the fucking Aryan Brotherhood." Oreo craned her neck in agitation. "Where do you keep getting these ideas?"

Johnson just shrugged. Mendoza made a 'see what I mean' face at him. Well, it was either that or a 'fuck me with that black dick' face. It was hard to tell.

Suddenly their headsets crackled to life on full volume. A tormented voice rang in everyone's ears through a pall of static.

"CHIIIEEEEEF! Leave me! Get out of here before it's too late!" The voice was twisted, agonized, but still recognizable.

"Captain Keyes!" Oreo wheeled around in circles to find a direction to face that would enhance the signal. "You're alive! Do you still have your neural implant?"

"Chief!" croaked the voice on the other end. "You sound different! I thought your balls already dropped."

Oreo leaned back against the wall. "No Captain, it's me, Lieutenant Oreo."

"Why I remember that day like it was yesterday," rambled the Captain. Johnson and Mendoza looked at each other, then at Oreo. She shook her head. "I had just returned to Reach after one of my colony wide booty call combo chains! There you were, having a shock stick jammed into your ear by one of the drill instructors when suddenly your agonized wails changed from Justin Bieber levels to Keith David levels and you tore that poor bastard's balls out through his ass. It was on that day that me and Dr. Hasley, who was my last stop by the way, knew you were something special."

Oreo digested this. "I…see." She looked guiltily at the other two. "And, uh, what other stuff do you remember about his—I mean, my childhood?"

Johnson scowled at her, but Mendoza only grinned.

"Oh all sorts of things," said Keyes. "Did I ever tell you about those psycho analysis sessions we had to conduct near the end of the Spartan program? Most of the Spartans were either too shell shocked from the constant brutal torture and psychological reconditioning to retain drives and wills of their own, so even though you all came down with dozens of psychological disorders apiece we still managed to squeeze the entire program through. Well, except for the ones who died as children. And except for you. Dr. Hasley said she'd never seen a more inhuman human in her life. That was why Cortana picked you, we always thought. She has a thing for sadism. Hasley said your complete loss of sanity and empathy had been a result of the training, but I was never so sure; did you know the flash clone we replaced you with ended up killing his entire family? Twice? I'm not even sure how that's possible."

By the time he'd finished Oreo had placed a hand over her mouth. Her eyes were as wide as saucers. She turned to the others as Keyes continued to ramble.

"My god. I never knew," she said. "I mean, the Chief is bad, but—but not that bad!"

Johnson had lost his frown. "You didn't know him before we arrived on Halo, shorty. Cortana told me all about the damage the cryo chamber did to his brain when we unfroze him." He shook his head. "Can't believe I'm saying this, but mental retardation might have been the best thing that's ever happened to the Chief. The best thing for the rest of us, anyways."

"And don't even get me started on the multiple personality disorder," interrupted Keyes's voice obliviously. "I mean that whole thing with the 'Cercil Saltstein' character. Talk about weird, it took years of aversion therapy to make him forget about—"

Oreo muted the radio with an irritable motion. "The Captain's obviously not with us right now, guys. The Chief's problems will have to wait until we can get the neural implant. Mendoza-" she stabbed a finger at him "do you have a pen and paper?"

Mendoza's took out a small notebook and a pen. "Of course. Do you want to see my drawings or something?"

"No." Oreo motioned for them to follow her and they did, turning the corner into a veritable labyrinth of lavender passageways. She was looking about at the walls, gathering in details as she spoke.

"When I was captured they brought McKay and Silva and me in through that hanger and took us straight to the bridge." She paused. "Huh. I wonder where McKay is. Anyways, I counted our turns, steps, and tried to remember a couple of these hallways." She turned left abruptly and they followed.

"That's not a bad talent," said Mendoza, still holding the pen and paper "But it would be so much easier if we had Cortana with us."

Johnson grinned. "Yep."

Oreo shot them a look over her shoulder. They kept their faces as straight as possible.

"Mendoza, write down what I say, I might need to recite it-"

"Did y'all know that the Chief had garden shears shoved up his ass at one point?" interrupted Johnson, pressing a finger to his ear piece as he continued to listen to Keyes's blathering.

Oreo growled. "God damn it Johnson I'm trying to concentrate!"

"Do you want me to write that down?" asked Mendoza.

"No! Are you retarded! Left turn, eighteen steps!" Oreo fumed as they followed her, Mendoza scribbling furiously. Oreo reached into her breast pocket and pulled out a small prescription bottle, then shook it. It was empty. "Fuck me." Oreo threw it over her shoulder and Mendoza caught it surreptitiously. He and Johnson looked at the bottle, then at each other with raised eyebrows.

"Let me see that!" barked the Liutenant, wheeling around suddenly and waggling her hand at Mendoza. He jumped and shoved the bottle behind his back, then offered her the notepad. Oreo was too frustrated to notice. Her eyes skimmed over the page and crossed for a moment.

"Okay. Okay, I remember now. We're almost at the bridge." She closed the book and handed it back.

She looked around. "Huh. Strange that we haven't encountered any resistance yet. You'd think that if the Flood had overwhelmed them there'd be more signs of battle."

"Hmph." Mendoza crossed his arms. "Well I think it's fabulous, thank you very much."

Oreo gave him a strange look. "Come on. Let's keep going."

"Nigga!" hissed Johnson to Mendoza. "Can I see yo drawings?"

Mendoza handed him the notepad with a wink. "Don't use them all at once, now."

Oreo cleared her throat. "Time's a wasting, boys!" She grinned, suddenly feeling manic. "Let's go!"

They shrugged and followed the Lieutenant down the next empty corridor and through a few more turns. She was counting under her breath. They stopped before a set of doors slightly larger than those that had come before. They still had not encountered any resistance whatsoever.

"This is the door to the bridge," said Oreo. "Johnson, put Keyes back on our channel."

Keyes's croaking voice filled their ears. "Chieeef! Leave me! It's too late for me!"

"Where are you, sir?" asked Oreo in a calm, authoritative voice. "Are you still on the bridge?"

"I don't know!" howled the Captain. "Damn this horrible disease!"

Her eyes widened. "Disease? The Captain must have been infected by the Flood! Don't worry sir, we're coming!" Oreo was practically bouncing off the walls with enthusiasm. She flipped the safety off her weapon and looked over at the other two.

"You guys ready?" Her eyes had a feverous glint to them.

"You can count me in," said Johnson.

"Me threeway," said Mendoza.

Oreo made a face and then rushed towards the door. It slid open with a hiss and they piled through, weapons ready.

Nothing could have prepared them for what they found.

The bridge was awash in shadows that danced and flickered from the pale purple lights atop the command platform. Through the turmoil of shadows, they could make out nothing much lining the walls. Likewise there was not much of anything anywhere else in the room.

"ATTAAAA-" Oreo stopped. She looked around, face falling. "Oh…well. Um…good." She was visibly deflating. "Looks like the, the coast is clear."

"Sheeet." Johnson pumped his shotgun, unnecessarily ejecting a perfectly good shell out. "I was hopin to cap some niggas."

"You guys are disappointed?" said Mendoza. "Gee, straight people are so blood thirsty."

"Don't start." Oreo cocked her head. "Wait a minute—do you hear that?"

Faint moans came from the platform.

"I'm straight," said Johnson a bit too loudly.

Mendoza eyed him. "Not for long."

"Guys, shut up." Oreo marched up the platform with her weapon ready. She stopped when she got to the top. Her shocked voice made them both jump. "My god—it's the Captain!"

Johnson and Mendoza looked at each other and rushed after her. They too came to a frozen halt when they saw what she had seen. Nothing could have prepared them for what they found on that platform.

The command platform was awash in shadows that danced and flickered from the pale purple lights atop the command platform. Through the turmoil of shadows, they could make out a twisted a shape: a barely human body contorted in agony is at it writhed on the ground. Besides that there was nothing at all there.

"Keyes," said Oreo slowly. "He's…he's fine."

It was true: the aged Captain was curled up on the ground, his emaciated rib cage rising and falling slowly. He looked like he always did.

Johnson and Mendoza's faces fell. "Oh…well. Um…good. Great. That's a relief."

"You guys," said Oreo disapprovingly. She gave them a terse look and knelt down by aging man.

"Captain Keyes?"

Milky gray eyes flickered open from wrinkly sockets. "That you, Doctor Hasley? So you finally got those breast implants I've been telling you to get." He nodded approvingly. "Good woman."

"Um, no, it's me. Lieutenant Oreo."

Keyes waved her away, trying to sit up. "Don't be ridiculous—no woman would ever be allowed into the military!"

Mendoza and Johnson snickered nervously at the look on her face. Oreo refocused with the ease of one who had much practice in this area.

"Are you all right, sir? Last we heard you were on a mission to secure an armory."

Keyes hands shot up suddenly to grip the front of her collar. She stood up, pulling him with her until he was standing shakily on his own two feet. "You don't understand, you fool!" croaked the Captain.

She respectfully disengaged his hands. "What don't we understand?"

"Women can _never _be allowed into the military! Do you have any idea what that would do to unit strength! Women are sexual animals! You wouldn't be training recruits to fight! You'd be training them to fuck! If you let a woman into the ranks she would fuck everyone in the whole damn army!"

Oreo looked over her shoulder at Mendoza, who was grinning widely. She scowled.

"Try to stay focused, sir. What happened to you?"

Keyes began to shake. His eyes had a very far off look. "T-t-the _Flood_, Lieutenant. That's what happened."

Oreo rolled her eyes. "Wow, even shell shocked he's still a drama queen."

"Hey!" Johnson crossed his arms indignantly. "I was there, too. Have some sympathy. Bitch."

Oreo glared at him. "You were what?"

"Ah, that's right!" said Keyes. "I remember you, you cheerful negroid!" His voice dropped. "We had just discovered the Chief in some sort of ante chamber after losing most our squad to the swamp. We thought we were safe; they usually only come out in the daylight. _Usually_."

"Jesus Christ."

Keyes ignored her. "The nigger took a plasma grenade to the face."

"Hey!" Johnson's face went red.

"Calm down," said Oreo. "He's from a different time, Johnson. That's just how people were back then."

"FUCK THAT SHIT."

Mendoza put a hand on Johnson's chest. Where the other hand was, only his ass knew. Oreo turned back to Keyes.

"Then what happened, sir? Who threw the plasma grenade?"

"My opposite number in the Covenant—a man as dangerous as he is insightful, as clever as he is deadly, as calculating as he is cold. _Commander Darren and his wicked Jackal concubine Eric._"

Oreo slowly pressed the palm of her hand to her face. "Of course. Why did I even ask."

"It turned out they had disguised themselves as Marines," elaborated Johnson, pushing Mendoza away from him. Mendoza slammed against one of the pillars on the edge of the command platform face first. His body switched around, just like the liquid metal terminator in Terminator 2, and he walked back up to them.

Okay not really.

"And then what happened?"

Keyes's eyes opened very wide. "_The Flood_."

Oreo looked up. "Is the Flood a horde of mutated, tentacle-sporting zombies accompanied by bouncing gas bags?"

"Yes." Keyes stared at her. "My god—the fabled woman's intuition! It is not a myth after all!"

"Fuck you, they're right there." Oreo turned, aiming her SMG at the enormous wave of putrefied flesh that poured from the door like a spray of bacteria laden pus from a popped zit, filling the room below the platform in a sea of squirming, squealing parasites. A wall of corroded armor and twisted limbs piled up the platform with gurgled war cries as Mendoza and Johnson turned in shock.

Keyes shook, a mad-gleam in his eye. "…The day of judgment…" he hissed dramatically "_HAS COME."_

Oreo pistol whipped him in the face.


	21. Chapter 9 Two of Two

_(A/N: Change of plans; Chapters 9 and 10 have been combined. This is the 1__st__ part of chapter 10, acting as the 2__nd__ part of chapter 9. The actual 2nd part of Chapter 9 will act as the first part of chapter 10, while the actual 2__nd__ part of chapter 10 will act as the actual 2__nd__ part of chapter 10.)_

_ Anyways,_

The Pillar of Autumn was a wrecked, shell-shocked imitation of what it had once been. Thick coatings of sand and dust had washed over its once shining bro-tan corridors, carried in by the viscous sand storms of Halo's desert areas. No wall was without a mark of either the ship's brutal landing or the monstrous entities that now overran it. No surface was left unmarred by corch marks mingled with stains of Covenant blood, or splashes of yellowing Flood discharge.

_When John arrived it was 9 a clock at the Beverley Hills Airport. The sun was shining, the air was clear, and he had just boarded the flight that would take him to the next stage of his eventful life. Arm in arm with his gay black African muscle-guy lover Sonjon he boarded the plane and sat down in isle five._

_ "Baby," said Sonjon in his smooth Barry White language, "This is so great to be going to your home to meet your parents, it is so great! I will love you like stallion, baby."_

_ "I know hon'," said John, and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "I just hope my half retarded right wing balding high blood pressure father will approve of you. I don't see why he wouldn't, of course. I just worry about us so much."_

_ "I know darling, I know," said Sonjon. He began to sweat profusely and lifted a pencil thin microphone to his lips. "And you're amazin' baby touch me with your wicked hands, you could brew up trouble in the heart of any man! One kisses two kiss three kiss more, make feel like HA HAVE NEVA FELT BEFOOOORE!" He collapsed back orgasmically into the chair, sweat pouring of his bulbous bald head._

_ "Some people can just be so homophobic and prejudiced," said John, wiping spit off his own face with a handkerchief. By the way some of my best friends are Barry White._

_Soon they arrived in John's rural home town: Rural Town. It was in the deep south, New Jersey. His ass was sore and not just from all the sitting: he had just gotten membership in the mile high club courtesy of the sweatiest penis in the world._

_ They got off the flight and he took a deep whiff of that country Oregon air. "Ah. Can't you just smell the ruralness and racism, Sonjon?"_

_ "Cow shit," said his large sweaty lover. "Sorry. I was just testing my voice."_

_ He sighed, brushing long golden locks of hair away from his face. "I grew up in a small town just outside an airport like this one," he said in a run on sentence. "Actually, it was this town. Let's go find my father who will no doubt accept you with open arms._

_ "Good idea," said Johnson—whoops did I just say that out loud? That is, "Good idea," said Sonjon. "Then we can finally get married. In the south."_

_ They arrived at the old small family cottage place five seconds later. His father was there to greet them._

_ "Hi son," said Captain Keyes, shooting Sonjon in the stomach with his old rifle without even looking at him. The black man collapsed and died. "I have bad news, your mother passed away yesterday. She was making pudding for you to sit overnight, and she accidentally left herself in the cryo chamber fridge. I found her body the next morning. It was… cooled solid."_

_ John was stunned. This was horrible. "But pa," he said, "how could this happen? Where were you?"_

_ "I was fucking your cousin while wearing a jacket made out of American flags," said Keyes. "Goddamn she has a tight little ass. I tore her head off after I was done and cut your mother's face out of the family pictures and smeared them with my own poop, then threw a Molotov cocktail at a gay wedding. You wouldn't happen to be gay, would you son? Because I hate gays and must repress them."_

_ "No, I'm very straight." John began to cry. "You cut her out of the picture of us at the Styrofoam factory where our entire family has always worked since we arrived in America on the mayflower? It is my cherished memory! Where did you bury ma?"_

_ "I just ate her," said his father. "Saves money on all counts. It's part of my rugged individualistic old style conservative Americanism."_

_ "Oh." John considered this. "Well, okay. Let's go get a beer, I'm parched."_

___His father began to urinate. "It better not be bud light. Oh, and take the body with us; I want something to eat on the way."_

"CHIEF!" screamed Cortana as the banshee tore across the desert towards the same pod bay they had escaped out of so long ago. "CHIEF YOU'RE COMING IN TO FAST! AGAIN!"

_He and Keyes sat down at the bar. Sonjohn's severed dick hung out of the corner of his father's mouth._

_ "What's your poison?" asked the Bartender, who was Cercil._

_ "Liquid Anthrax," said the Spartan. He glanced at his dad. "How about you dad?"_

_ "A large bandolier of mouse dicks," said his father, who was Cercil. "They go down smooth like a bucket full of wood chips."_

_ "It's on the house," said the bartender who was Cercil, sliding two tall grape sodas to them. He winked. "This'll whet those big lips of yours with some high quality grape drank."_

_John looked down at his drink. It was Cercil._

The Banshee smashed through the bay and both its wings tore off at the same time. The main chassis went straight on into a tan wall and exploded in a flash of blue electrical discharge, plowing through the bulkhead and burying itself amongst a flaming tunnel of debris smack dab in the Flood infector form ridden maintenance tunnels. Adjective adverb noun adjective verb noun, adverb verb noun.

"CHIEF! SNAP OUT OF IT!"

_ "That's odd," said John, looking around at the other patrons of the bar, all of whom were Cercil._

_ "What's odd?" asked his mother's severed head without eyes hanging from the ceiling by its spider legs. It was Cercil._

_ "I thought I heard someone calling my name."_

_ His father who was Cercil patted him on the back with a hand, which he was holding with his hand. "John," he said, "I am hard."_

_ John looked over at Mendoza, who was dancing on the table just like in the Dukes of Hazard or whatever, and wearing a thong, and fuck you. Oh, and he was Cercil._

_ "I'm not sure. Is it my name?"_

_ Oreo, who was Cercil, stepped out from the back room with Whitania's dead body, which was Cercil's dead body. She slammed it onto the table. "What else could it be? Maybe it starts with a C. A C, for cock. AC. AC AC AC AC AC AC AC AC AC AC AC AC _

_ "I don't know, Oreo," said John. "But can I see your bewbies?"_

_ "Sure you can, Cercil," said Oreo, who was Cercil. She took her top off, but instead of boobs it was two large sharks growing out of her chest, who were also Cercil. They began to messily devour Whitania's body, which was Cercil's body, in front of John. Blood splattered onto his face, covering him. The blood was Cercil. Comma comma comma comma._

__The Chief rose from the burning wreckage of the banshee and stumbled into a red lit wall. The maintenance tubes groaned around him as the wreckage settled. A squirming, wiggling sound accompanied a horde of yellow greenish blobs crawling down the tunnel to his right. The Chief fumbled in the red emergency light darkness, feeling his way down the opposite tunnel and away from the horrors.

"CHIEF! JUST SHOOT THEM! "

"Bewbies," he said.

_"My pallet is not yet cleansed," farted the liquid silver metal terminator from Terminator 2. Its mouth was like an anus. It slithered onto the table and slowly formed itself into Major Silva sitting on the edge of the table with his silver haired legs crossed. He was naked save for a speedo. _

_ Also, he was Cercil._

_ "Barkeep!" barked Silva, who was Cercil, to the Bartender who wasn't really Cercil anymore. "Bring more grape drank!"_

_ "Unacceptable!" the Barkeep tore off his face, revealing beneath it the face of Cercil._

_ "Fuck," said John. The Bartender who was now Cercil rolled a grape across the table, but when Silva tried to pick it up the grape pulled off its mask, revealing itself to be Corporal McKay._

_ "Oh hey Cercil," said John._

_ "Hey there yourself, Cercil," said McKay who was Cercil. "Why are you hanging out with this Oreo cunt, Cercil?"_

_ John stared. He looked down at himself. He was naked but for his pubic hair, which was incredibly dense. "What? No—I'm not Cercil! Cercil isn't me!"_

_ "Son," said Keyes as an enormous amount of poop filled his pants and all his teeth grew very very long. His head had turned three hundred and sixty degrees and then another twenty degrees so he could look at the Chief. "Son, Cercil you is. This you know. You must accept your nature."_

_ "NO!" John turned towards the door. "I have to get out of here!" But he couldn't go, because Commander Keyes had stepped in front of the door. The aging commander had a sad expression on his face, and also he was Cercil._

_ "No, Cercil," said Keyes who was Cercil. "You are Cercil."_

_ John spun around. Everyone in the bar had the face of Cercil, including a bowel of peanuts and THE KEGS OF IRISH ALE DRINK IT AND BECOME A MAN. O'MALLYS IRISH ALE. YOU'D FUCK THE KRAKEN JUST TO GET A TASTE OF IT._

"SUCK MY RIVER DANCE!" roared the Chief, spraying bullets at the oncoming wave of pus sacks as he smashed backwards through the wall of the maintenance shaft. A grenade found its way into his hand and he threw it, a belch of fire curling from the hole in the wall a second later. Smoking scraps of flesh splattered his body.

"Chief, I'm picking up movement all around us. Get to cover!"

"I AM COVER." He stood up.

A group of black armored Covenant troopers were standing in the corridor, staring at him. A grunt had pressed itself against a bulkhead and was shaking in fear, its fuel rod cannon dropped on the floor a few feet away. The Chief's eyes locked on the weapon.

_"Cercil Cercil Cercil Cercil Cercil Cercil," said Oreo as she cat walked sexily towards him, her huge boobs oozing grape soda. Mendoza looked up from riding a mechanical bull with a huge erection (him, not the bull. Well, the bull too.) "Cercil Cercil Cercil Cercil," he said. _

_ "Cercil Cercil," agreed Sergeant Johnson, looking up from a menu that had Cercil's vomiting face surrounded by dancing turkeys on it._

_ Cortana unzipped her gimp mask long enough so that she could say "Cercilcercilcercil."_

_ "Cercil Cercil Cercil Cercil Cercil Cercil Cercil Cercil lesbians," said McKay._

_ A Barbershop Quartet of peppermint bagels climbed up onto the counter and began to sing. "Ooooooh—!"_

_ The Chief clutched at his ears. "NOOOO!" He fell to the ground in front of his father who was Cercil, then looked up. His father was no longer Cercil, but now Cercil._

_ "Chief," said Cercil, grinning down at the Spartan. "Welcome to my mind."_

"_I thought this was my mind."_

_ Cercil winked. "Ha-ha-exactly. Right. Get it?"_

_ John bolted to his feet. "NO! You are not my mind! FUCK YOU!"_

_ "Fuck yourself," countered Cercil._

_ "Touche." The Chief sagged back, shaking his head. "I can't believe that you came from my mind, and then came back into my mind! How did this happen?_

"_The answer to that is quite simple," said Cercil. "You see, in 1987 the US government began work on project Lazarus Athena Orion Scorpion Lightening Bolt. Well, actually they okayed the project in 1986, but they there was a fuck load of paper work to complete and half the teams were still in Asia working on making feedback pocket pussies. Anyways, Project was a project to create a breed of super men; highly powerful, good, and excellent. They were meant to be the sexual slaves of the demons that work for the White House; demons need lots of cock. The demons lust for dick was so great that they had gone to the ends of the earth to find it. It was only in George Washington that they found a large enough cock and an amiable enough man to get the buggering they needed. They cut a deal with Washington to make him his own country and make him secret emperor of it. The catholic church tried to stop them, but Washington implanted his top secret agents and they've been running things for the US government ever since, —"_

Back in the real world the Chief stooped to pick up the enormous fuel rod cannon. He hefted it over one shoulder and aimed at the aliens. "It's time to kick ass and chew bubblegum. And I'm all out of irrelevancy."

A green projectile exploded from the snub nose of the cannon, careening into the squad of Spec Ops troopers. There was a blast of bright green light and dead bodies flew through the air. The handful of aliens still living dove for cover.

"We should have killed him while he was getting up, leaning over, and picking up that gun!" wailed a grunt. "

"Silence!" a Spec Ops Elite smacked the grunt so hard that it became a bitch. He pointed at the other Spec Ops elites who all had Jackal shields. "Create a tortoise defense, Spart Ops!"

"For Specopsa!" the Spart Ops created a tortoise defense

"That's not going to work!" cowered the grunt. "He has _artillery_. THIS IS MADNESS."

"Madness?" said the Speck AWPs Elite quietly. "This. Is. A GREAT IDEA!" he kicked the grunt in the face, sending it tumbling out of the shield wall's cover. The Chief immediately spotted it and vaporized it, then continued to advance on their position.

"These hemroids," grated the super soldier, aiming his cannon at them. "Infesting my anus! Like flies made iron wool fucking on my anus! MY ANUS IS AFLAME. PUT OUT MY FLAMES WITH GASOLINE!"

"Chief get a hold of yourself!" screamed Cortana. "Whatever this thing is, you have to fight it off. I can't pretend to understand or care about what's going in your head with Cercil right now, but listen here; if Halo isn't destroyed I won't be able to torment you anymore, and that would suck."

"I AM NOT INSPIRED."

_John shook his head, trying to clear it of the yammering voice. _

_Cercil was still talking. "You know John this story reminds me of Project . See, in 908 A.D.D. the US government began work on a secret project to create the biggest nose of all time, but God had other plans. He created Mega-Jesus, also known as Chuck Norris. Mega-Jesus destroyed all the plans and DNA sampling that the lord of eights, 'Dick' Cheney, had created, using his Vice-Presidental privileges to steal George Bush's anal bleach and in turn power his heart attack time machine into the past, where he assembled the perfect nose out of unobtainium and cum lube. But the Na'vi had other plans, so Abe Lincoln and Captain Jack Sparrow had to band together and create a spoon made from diapers so they could deforest the Navi's enormous taint fuzz tree with their mighty white dick penis bullets. Soon they were able to liquidate the Vietcong bodies and turn them into THE WEST'S PRECIOUS OIL and thus fuel the baby grinding machine to create the perfect nose, which they grafted onto some Jewfag. Since we all know that noses indicate the size of the penis, the demons were all too happy to-"_

_ "Is any of that actually true?" interrupted John, looking up from the floor of the bar which was Cercil._

_ "Nope." Cercil reached into the gaping hole in his head and produced a chocolate chip bagel, which he began to eat. "I was just stringing random words together to distract you while I slowly absorbed your mind."_

_ "That's what I thought."_

_ Cercil waggled his eyebrows. "You mean what we thought. Or what I thought. Right? RIGHT?" The Elite nudged him in the ribs. "This is some David Lynch shit right here isn't it?"_

_ "NO!" John made to push him away. "Get away from me you freak!"_

_ Cercil caught his wrists. "Ah-ah! I don't think so." His pressed John down to his knees, his horrific face looming closer and closer. His eyes had become swirling red infernos of blood on fire._

_ "Get out of my mind!" said John as he strained to break the sphincter tight grip of the alien's hands._

_ "I can't," said Cercil. "Because we…ARE THE SAME MIND."_

_John finally wrenched away. "I get it, okay. I get it!"_

_ The alien raised an eyebrow. "O rly? It seems you are unwilling to accept our destiny. Perhaps you need some… reminding."_

The Spec Ops leader whose name was Leon was talking to a grunt as the Chief bombarded their position with fuel rod mortars.

"I am sorry Quaisigoggy" said Leon. "You are too small and deformed to join our shield wall."

"I HAVE BEEN TRAINGFH ALL MAH LIEF!" sputtered the grunt, brandishing an energy sword. His thrust was indeed potent.

Leon watched, adjusting his codpiece. "Hm. But let me see your shield."

"Gh. Eh. FEH." Quasisigoggy tried to raise the energy shield but his arm was too deformed and he could only raise it an inch.

Leon laughed derisively. "You see my friend, if you were a real Spartops elite you would know that we use our shield to do stuff. Now gtfo."

"UH WER WRUNG FAFHER!" gurgled the grunt as it trundled away, waving its weapon about in hurtful anger.

_"What do you mean reminding?" asked John. _

_ "This 'character development' is making you forget who you really are." The bar had completely dissolved away, leaving only a black void that John and Cercil stood in. John frowned as he looked at the Elite. Somehow the image was blurred, becoming greenish and boxy. He blinked and the illusion was gone, but for a moment he could have sworn that Cercil had been wearing MJOLNER armor._

_ "What's wrong Cohn? Visual metaphor got your tongue?" He stepped aside, revealing a purple curtain behind him. "Step into the mind maze. Let's see where our mind takes us on the magic school bus. Wakka wakka wakka."_

_ Cohn stood up obediently and followed Jercil through the curtain._

The Chief watched as a hunchbacked, mutated grunt hobbled out from behind the shield wall and staggered towards him. He stopped bombarding the Covenant defenses for a moment.

"Demon!" The grunt spewed spittle. "Demon, I haghf a proposshusionh for yohhh. I knowh a waygh around the Shhhperrhhtannnshh'ssss'es shiighlld whu—"

The Chief shot him.

_Cercil closed the curtain behind them and it disappeared. He walked up next to John, who was staring at an image floating in mid air. It was of a woman with lesbianish red hair that she had dared to cut like a man would cut his hair what a filthy whore and green eyes._

_ "Ah. Cuntrawl McTranny," said Cercjl, musing over the image. "That hardcore bitch. I wonder, what could have caused her to be such a fucking cunt?" He looked expectantly at Cohn. _

_ "I don't know." Jichen rubbed his forehead, trying hard to remember._

_ "Let me help you." Corchijl held up a bagel and began to slowly fellate its bagel-hole. Then he also held up a remote and changed the picture. It changed to a POV shot of McKay's angry face. The shadow of an elite with a chain saw fell over her_

_ 'I'm gonna cut your wood bitch' echoed a deranged scream._

_ Corncil winced. "Whoops, wrong slide. Let's go forwards a few seconds."_

_ A slow motion video reel of Captain Keyes pushing McKay out of the escape pod as the Chief laughed played._

_ 'Geeeeeeett baaaaaaccccchhhh iinnnn tthhhhhe !'_

_ "Wow," said Cercijl, tapping his face plate. "I guess people get a little bitter when they're betrayed by their own race. I mean she's also a bitch, but still. "_

_ Johncn shook his head. "No—NO! It was funny! It was for the lulz."_

_ Cerciljohn smiled. "It sure was. But let's move on."_

"We have to move on," came Cortana's voice as the Chief continued to unload the fuel rod cannon onto the Covenant.

He nodded slowly. "Good point Whortana. Let me just…." He carefully aimed a plasma grenade and threw. The burning blue orb soared over the Spartan's impenetrable shield wall and fell behind them.

Leon was eating an apple and talking to the squad as they held down the wall against the Chief's barrage. "Besides," he finished as the plasma grenade bounced off the ceiling and fused to his helmet. "There's no reason we can't be civil."

An elite turned from oiling up everyone's CGI muscles and saw the grenade stuck to his superior's head. His eyes bugged out.

"NOOooOOoOoOoOOoOOoO!"

Boom! A wave of superheated air blasted into the spawtans backs and into the rest of the squad, blowing them over the flattened shield wall like so many bodies flying through the air. Leon's severed head went flying past the Chief at one hundred miles per hour, pieces of apple spraying out his mouth as he screamed.

"TONIGHT WE DINE IN THE LIBRARY!"

"Yeah, have fun with that," said the Chief as he spun in a circle firing the cannon. All the bodies exploded mid-air into ash and chunks of bone that rained to the ground. In seconds all three hundred times one over one hundred Spec Ops troopers had been turned to dust. If the Chief fired two fuel rod cannon shots and the dead Covenant bodies traveled at one third of a meter equidistant from each other, at what angle would the pair of fuel rods have to have connected to their formation to distribute the deadly thermal radiation equally, assuming the radiation's wavelength was some how half the normal length and yet had seven orders of magnitude more energy than normal thermal radiation? Calculate the length of the wave of thermal radiation first and remember all units are in nano meters. Solve for X.

Cortana piped up. "Huh, that's odd. Did you just call me Whortana?"

_"And exhibit b," said Cerciljohn, clicking the remote as another image came on screen. He produced another bagel and began baking a bagel chain to hang around his neck. _

_ "Or chapter b," said Johncercil helpfully as the subtitle 'Halo' appeared on the picture._

_ "There is no such thing as a chapter." Cerciljohn pointed at the collage of images on the screen; a facility shooting lasers into the sky, a building on the side of a cliff over looking water, a facility in the middle of some sort of basin, and a large rocky quarry. "These," he said, "are the places you collected marines from after the crash." He paused. "Or, did you?" The remote clicked and the images changed. Bodies. Hundreds of bodies, all of them human marines, tangled, broken, dead. "Would you like to guess how many of these were your doing?" _

_ "Wow, did you make that in power point?" asked John. "It's really nice."_

_ "Thanks," simpered Cercil. "But answer my question."_

_ "None?"_

_ "No." Cercil took an emphatic bite out of a bagel, eating half, and raised it to Johncercil's eye level._

_ Jercil clapped his hands."Half a zero? So none!"_

_ Cercil shook his head slowly. "No. But you're 'half' right."_

_ Johncercil rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. "Yeah, well, at least they didn't get a chance to throw grenades. Right? Amirite?"_

_ Cerciljohn swallowed the bagel and laughed along with him. "Yes, ending human life is funny. At least, it's funny to me. And to you."_

_ Johncercil closed his mouth and glared at his smug counterpart, who ignored the look. _

_ "On the value of human life, let's take a look at one particular Marine." The remote clicked again as another well moistened bagel disappeared down Cercil's gullet. _

The Chief's shoulder slammed into the scorched blast door, sparks and flame belching like the breath of some mechanical dragon out along its ruined tan surface, leaving black tendrils of char where the flames had passed. The sound of a million squirming fleshy creatures filled his ears as he struck the door again and again. Finally the metal peeled back like a blooming, burning flower, spilling the armored warrior onto the floor from the inertia of his strike.

Even as he tried to get to his hands and knees a tidal wave of necrotic flesh crashed on his back; hungry organisms streamed over and beneath him, searching with tiny piercing needles for a single scrap of flesh to violate. His shields flared, the discharge frying those that got close enough to complete its circuit. A maelstrom of exploded flesh and yellow blood picked up around him as he rose, arms flailing, and staggered down the hallway. His hand forced its way past a blanket of feelers and snatched a dormant plasma grenade from his belt.

A woman's harsh, bitchy voice screamed in his ear. "Chief, what are you doing?"

The blue orb flared to life in his fist. The Chief grated froth-tinged words through blood stained teeth. "Do. You. Ever. Shut. Up?"

_"Sergeant Avery Johnson," said Cerciljohn, gesturing at the image of Johnson with a half eaten bagel. Someone had photo-shopped a pair huge red lips onto the black man and turned his skin color far darker than it actually was. "Or as I like to call him: Sergeant 'Firin' Mah Lazar' Mandingo."_

_ Johncercil crossed his arms obstinately._

_ Cerciljohn changed the slide; it was now two pictures sharing equal space. One was of a cliff side at night with the Chief, Oreo, and Johnson talking to each other. The other was some sort of transcript. He squinted at the text.__ "'Wow Johnson, this changes everything; I no longer feel comfortable or safe around you.'" He looked at Johncercil. "That's pretty racist. Seems like something I would say."_

_ Johncercil frowned. "Now look…everyone is a little racist. I can't help how I was raised."_

___Cerciljohn nodded sarcastically. "Yeah, except we weren't raised by anyone, ever, you parent-less bitch. Mind if I read the next line here?"_

_ "Be my guest."_

"_Thanks. I am your guest. Your MIND guest!" Cercil read the line. "'Shut your idiot vagina up; I have to deal with this uppity nigger right now.'" He waggled his eyebrows. "Now if that's not some hilarious political insensitivity and Cro-Magnon cock centralism then I don't know what is. Brings a tear to my eye, honestly."_

The plasma grenade exploded, slamming the Chief back against the bulkhead and vaporizing every single flood infector form. The heat traveled like a wave, rushing back over the ocean of infector forms and baking each of them to ashen husks in turn. The heat washed over the Chief's shields, overloading them quickly. He felt horrible burning pain for moment before the fire dissipated.

Armored knees slammed to the deck as the Chief collapsed, smoking and stiff from the huge concussive force tossing him about.

"I can't believe that worked," commented Cortana. "I mean, I literally can't believe it. We should be fucking dead."

He stood up. The fuel rod cannon had been abandoned a few rooms back. He un-holstered his rifle again but found it had been irreparably damaged by the blast.

"I need a weapon."

"A brain is what you need," said Cortana.

The Chief rolled his eyes and crept stiffly down the flickering tan corridor until he came to a two way fork.

"I'm picking up movement to the west," said Cortana. "A battle I think. Maybe you can skirt them by taking the maintenance corridors again."

"I'd rather not," said the Chief, feeling along the right hand corridor for a maintenance tunnel. He tripped on the broken body of a human marine. The Chief knelt down by the corpse and field stripped it, finding a half empty pistol hidden in the butt crack of all places.

He stared. "Huh. Maybe one of Mendoza's 'friends.'"

"I'm pretty sure even Mendoza wouldn't stick explosive ordinance up his asshole."

The Chief smirked. "You'd be surprised what people will stick up their asses; ever gone to ?"

"Halo isn't outfitted with wireless," said Cortana dryly. She paused. "You seem, uh…different, Chief. I've never heard you use a semicolon before."

"People change." The Chief finally found the door to the maintenance corridor and pried it open. He activated his flash light and peered inside the claustrophobically dark tunnel, swinging it every which way to check for any threats. "This reminds me of Captain Keyes's colonoscopy video."

Cortana laughed. "What, did he make you watch it every night before nap-time?"

"No, I downloaded it off the Covenant's battle net. Someone's been broadcasting it all day."

"That was me." Cortana paused, disturbed by what had been said. "Wait-when did you learn to use computers?"

_ "And then," continued Cerciljohn, "you shot Johnson in the knee and left. Shall I go on?"_

_ Johncercil hung his head. "No."_

_ "Good. Let's continue to your other failings as a human being and as a man." He clicked the remote and an image of Mendoza appeared. "This man. Men-doesa. Do you know how many times you've brutally murdered him, Johncercil?"_

_ "Hmph." He crossed his arms. "No. I suppose you're going to tell me, though."_

_ "No. I'm not." Cercil smiled coldly. "Because even I don't know how many times you've murdered this poor faggot." He stopped and glanced at the picture of Mendoza's ass. "Huh. Damn, he's pretty cute. I would totally suck his liquefied dick through a straw to absorb his gay powers and rape the universe."_

_ "Right on, bro." The Chief shook his head. "I mean, Mendoza always comes back. So it doesn't count."_

_ "Uh huh, sure. Can I ask you a question Johncercil?"_

_ Johncercil shrugged. "Oh, I thought we were going to go through every single horrible thing I've ever done before we did the 'insightful question.'"_

_ "No, I already got enough material from the first three hours since you got out of the cryo chamber to set us up for an eternity of dissing. You know what you've done. I figure why wait, you know?"_

The Chief gazed through a small hole in the maintenance grating at the viscous battle going on in the corridor. Another squad of Special Ops Covenant SPAWTANS had been ambushed by a horde of flood combat forms, but as he watched silvery sentinel robots poured from around the corner and began firin' their lazars at the surprised combatants.

"Looks like Guilty Spork has already arrived," he said grimly.

"Guilty Spork?" Cortana sounded more and more disturbed. "You don't usually make up retarded nick names like this."

The Chief gritted his teeth. "Do you ever shut up?"

_"It's a simple question, John. It should be easy enough for a shit box like you to answer."_

_ "Give me your best shot." John stuck out his chest._

"_Does killing feel good to you?"_

The Chief waited until a Covenant Grunt waddled close to the door of the maintenance shaft. The squad of Elites, Grunts, and Jackals had taken cover behind energy barricades and were holding off an endless wave of the Flood. One could say a 'flood' of the Flood, but that would just be too fucking brilliant writing. Sentinels patrolled back and forth between the two forces, their lasers cutting through shields and flesh with equal ease.

A Grunt dove for cover as one of their lasers cut into the wall behind it. The diminutive alien ended up facing away from the grated maintenance door.

_"Does what feel good?" But he already knew, because Cecil had actually said it already by accident._

_ "Killing. I said it by accident."_

The Chief pried the door open with his bare hands, grabbed the grunt by the back of the neck, and pulled it into the darkness. It never even had the chance to scream.

_"Do you enjoy killing, John? You know that's not normal."_

He sunk his hands into its leather neck and twisted, feeling bone snap and blood vessels rupture. Iron fingers dug through alien flesh and he grabbed its spine, twisted, and felt bone splinter.

_"What does it feel like to kill?"_

Cyan blood ran over his thighs and hands as he grabbed the grunt's plasma pistol. A sickly green glow filled the tunnel as he held down the overcharge. Over the glowing light in his hands he saw an Elite turn, curious, to stare at the grating.

_"Perhaps killing is the only way you can feel anything at all."_

The overcharge punched straight through the hatch and slammed the Elite across the room, smashing his body into the wall as plasma consumed its every inch. The Chief burst into the corridor firing. Five bright pockets of light collided full on with a startled Jackal, tossing aside his shield and baking his brain into so much useless dough.

_The world had vanished. There was only John and Cercil—only now they stood in the same place as each other, their images overlapping like some sort of optical illusion. Cercil's neck curled around like a snake so that he could whisper into his counterpart's ear._

_ "Tell me, what is the difference between you and me? What makes you better than me? How many have you killed—how much did you enjoy the killing?"_

_ "Well, I'll tell you if you let me get a word in edgewise."_

"DIE!" the Chief threw a plasma grenade into the tightly clustered Covenant soldiers. They screamed, but one Elite caught the grenade on his weapon and grinned even as the two fused. He flung it back, only for it to bounce back off the Chief's chest as he ran head long into the squad.

"WHAT THE FUCK—"

_Cericl looked up too. "Huh. I wonder what that was." He shook his head. "Anyways, where was I? Oh, right. Ahem. Don't bother to answer John—we both know that killing is the only thing you CAN do right, the only thing you CAN take true pleasure from."_

The Chief rose from a wrecked heap of smoking sulfurous bodies like a black wraith of vengeance and drove his fist deep into the head of the single survivor, a cowering grunt, pushing its face all the way to the back of its alien skull.

_"You are a monster, John. You always have been."_

Blood erupted into the world and he threw his head back and laughed, the electric yellow discharge of his recharging shields dancing over charred and twisted armor.

_"We are the same you and I. We always have been. The Spartan project only peeled away the mask."_

He turned to the Flood and the Sentinels and grinned.

_"I've been with you since you were just a boy in the hood. Killing is our business and business is good."_

Decaying flesh parted for gauntleted fists. Alien metals screeched and tore under steel fingers. Rotten blood splattered a golden face plate, pale greenish sparks showered over torn electronics. The sentinels screamed and the Flood gurgled and cried out and died. And it was good.

"_We belong together, John. There's darkness inside every human heart. The capacity for hate, the capacity for electricity, the capacity for at least two dicks. I was never a reflection of you, never a negative or an opposite: I am you. I am more than you. I'm what you're meant to be, what you're going to become. I am what you have become."_

_Cercil cast a hand to the suddenly appeared floating letters of the name 'Master Chief.' "You see, John, the name Master Chief is an anagram." The letters began to slowly rearrange themselves. "An anagram…for Cercil Saltstein."_

_ "OH MY GOD—wait." John raised an eyebrow as the glowing neon letters smashed into each other and jostled for position, forming absolutely nothing at all. "No it isn't."_

_ He rose, disentangling himself from Cercil's body. The image of the half-human, half-elite flopped to the floor like a boneless snake and writhed back into uprightness. "Yeah, well I guess I got a little carried away," it said sheepishly._

_ John scoffed. "You're full of shit. I may be a whole hell of a lot like you but I'll tell you one thing; killing and hurting and destroying aren't the only things I love. There's one other thing I love."_

_ "O RLY?"_

_ "Oreo." John puffed himself up. "And here's your proof; this whole time, I've managed to avoid killing her. I've done a lot of bad things in my life—but I've also done some good, too. What good have you done, Cercil? None. Because you can't feel love—not even a little bit. You're like a parody, Cercil, a parody of me that crawled out of my mind. A parody from hell." John crossed his arms, smiling triumphantly. "I'll never mege with you. We'll never be the same."  
_

_Cercil's face split in a seemingly endless grin. "Merge with me? But John…that's what I've been trying to tell you. That's what we've been doing this entire time. We ALREADY ARE MERGED."_

"_What?" John stared down at his hands. They were not Spartan hands, not human hands. They were the four fingered claws of the Covenant Elites._

"_No that can't be true!" He reached up to feel his deformed, four jawed face. "NOOO!"_

_Cercil laughed as the mind museum around them began to collapse. "BUA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA! I won this battle a long time ago. You just had to realize it. You're not just John anymore, Cercil." _

_Purple fire erupted from huge fissures in the world, engulfing the slideshow and the curtains and the entire mindscape. John staggered and fell to his knees in front of John in his Spartan armor. He stared up into John's helmet and John's helmet stared down at him._

_And then the face plate split into four mandibles chattering over a mouth of serrated shark teeth, gleaming with terrible red light and bathed in a stew of saliva and half digested bagels._

"_Guess you just couldn't cut it," said the Master Chief._

The Chief was standing in a corridor that looked like the aftermath of the alien holocaust: smoldering stacks of dead bodies were lined against the walls, oozing bloody effluents and twitching. A foul rainbow of blue, purple, and yellow blood had smeared across the floor and the Spartan's armor. Sparking fragments of massacred sentinels littered the floor. When the Chief took a step, bits of bone and electronics crunched under his boot.

"Oh wow," Cortana murmured. "That was messed up, Chief."

"Cortana," said the Master Chief calmly, "If you say another fuck splitting word I'll rip your flash drive out of my head and toss it into the nearest star. How would you like that?"

"Er—uh, I don't know. Ah ha." Cortana's laugh was nervous. "I guess I wouldn't like that at all. Aha ha. Good one, Chief. Ah ha. Say, how's your identity crisis going? Got that all locked down, right?"

The Master Chief reached up to his helmet and cracked the seal. The smell of rotting flesh drifted to his nostrils.

"Whoa—wait a minute Chief—just what the hell do you think-"

He reached for the USB plugged into the side of his neck.

"Chief, stop—"

There was a buzzing sound as the flash drive slid out of the small port. Cortana's voice was instantly cut off and the Master Chief flipped the USB drive into the air, caught it, and then smashed it flat against the wall.

There was a crunch.

"Woops." He put his helmet back on. "Being the Chief is good. But being the _Master Chief_ is _great. Schlep._"

The Master Chief had arrived.

When the Master Chief arrived, the Pillar of Autumn _knew_. Every single living thing trapped inside its crumpled hull stopped what it was doing and looked about at doors that had become not the smoking, exposed blast doors of a broken ship, but the barred gateways of a prison—a death row in space, of which they were now all inmates. One way in, no way out. They checked in but they won't check out.

Flood combat forms looked up from the bodies they were infesting, the fragile infector forms within their chests shuddering as if touched lightly by invisible finger tips that reached inside to stroke their gaseous hides with raping intent. Covenant grunts and jackals felt an itch on the backs of their necks and all turned as one to stare at their betters, partly for their orders and partly to make sure that their comrades still exited in a place that—some part of them knew—had become a death trap. An abattoir. An event horizon for the end of life itself. The infector forms inside of Flood carriers strained at the over stretched skin sacks containing them, blinded and pushing to flee something-they knew not what. The older, more experienced Elites felt the urge to fall to their knees and pray. The rookies soiled themselves. The hunters shuddered as each individual worm that made up their bizarre colony-bodies felt the icy fingers of fear coil around the back bone that it did not have because worms are invertebrates. And, deep in the bowels of the engine room, 343 Guilty Spark looked up from the ten sentinels servicing his enormous mechanical member.

"Oh," he said faintly, "shit."

Thirty seconds later the Master Chief shoved a live frag grenade through a hunter's armored butt plate. The hunter let out a howl of pain and exploded in half like a gory subway sandwich, blood and lettuce flying everywhere. The Master Chief grabbed his crotch and thrust into the shower of blood, tubes of organs splattering over him.

"Sorry to 'butt' in, guys," he cackled as the smoldering remnants of the hunter's ass rained down on the other Covenant troops. He reached tore the sparking fuel rod cannon from the dead alien's severed arm, then turned it on his victim's enraged twin.

"Die alone," groaned the Spartan orgasmically as the hunter withered, getting cancer at a rate of ten cancers per second. It collapsed into a puddle of green mush. He stared down at the bubbling slop of organic goop that had once been a living, thinking being.

"Hey big boy, don't go _soft_ on me now."

The Master Chief began dry humping a dead grunt as he opened fire on the other grunts with two fuel rod cannons held in either hand. "HA HA HA! RAPE DEATH! DEATH RAPE!" The grunts tumbled and rolled into each other in the press to escape, their flesh burning and fusing together from the intense heat. "I've heard of group activities," said the Master Chief as he stalked through the muddle of fused, liquidated bodies. "But this is _ridiculous!_ HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA."

Then he collapsed to his knees in the lake of liquid flesh and vomited.

An armored fist slammed into the wall. "God damn it shut up Cortana! I am perfectly fine, so SHUT YOUR GODDAMN MOUTH YOU HOLOHORRIFIC BUTT PEGGING PISS DOMINATRIX SLUT WHORE BITCH FUCK SHIT CUNT ASS NIGGER CRAVING PIG SUCKING ENEMA!"

He looked up, then around. "Oh that's right. I murdered you."

The Pillar of Autumn groaned as the force of the Master Chief's pent up hate and resentment for the universe shook reality; a reality that had only given him pain, suffering, and other forms of discomfort—that had allowed the military to steal him away and forced him to become a catamite, that had stunted his mental and emotional growth…that had stolen his penis.

"Huh. My penis." The Master Chief stopped in the motion of standing up from the hell pit his carnage had wrought. "I wonder if my penis is really back now."

He ducked into a nearby side corridor. Unfortunately it was occupied by half a dozen grunts and a Special Ops elite. When he had finished stuffing the grunts into the bloated corpse of the Elite via the suppository method, the Master Chief squatted in a nearby corner and began to remove his cod piece. It took a while but eventually there was a hissing noise and the plate came away. He also removed his helmet so that he could get a good look.

The Master Chief stared down at the exposed flesh of his groin.

"Well what do you know; I really did get my dick back, and it's longer than two inches even. Finally! I feel so…complete! Awesome!" He grinned.

Then tore his genitals off and ate them **NOM NOM NOM**

"Tastes like chicken!" he laughed, blood flowing from between his teeth as he slammed the helmet back onto his head and stuffed the codpiece back over the ragged gash his groin had become. "NOW THAT"S WHAT I CALL A DICKS BARBEQUE BURGER!"

He smashed his fist into the wall, breaking all of the wall, then shoved his other fist through the dent and pried open the pure titanium alloy with his bare hands. The Master Chief poked his head through the hole and looked around the adjacent room.

"HERE'S JOHNNY!"

A Special Ops Elite looked up from the toilet, dropping the latest copy of Playalien into its lap. It looked at the Spartan and gulped

A few seconds later the Master Chef enthusiastically hammered the toilet lever with one hand, while with his boot he continually stomped the remains of the alien into the toilet bowl. Blood and filth sprayed through the air as he forced the liquidated remains down the drain. Shredded organs began to fill the tank like fluffy swirls of purple fabric.

The Master Chief grinned. "Now that's what I call a _stress shit_."

He grabbed a bottle of shaving cream from the sink. He began spraying it onto his own faceplate, leaving huge white foamy globules all over like an enormous money shot. Then he threw the bottle into the mirror and staggered over to the sink. He turned the faucet on and let the steam rise, fogging up the cracked mirror. Then he drew dicks and tits in the fog while shaving cream dripped from his face.

"Truly I have fallen to darkness," he said, drawing an abnormally large cockhead with his middle finger. He giggled. "Ha ha, this is Johnson's."

He paused."Oh me gad! Sergeant Johnson, Oreo, Mendoza—I have to get to the bridge; I told them to go and wait for me there once they got Keyes's neural implant. I have to go rape them all to death and then eat their corpses before it's too late!"

He started to leave. "No! What am I doing!" he shook his head. "I have to think up a good nick name for Johnson before I fuck his heart out through his ass. UH…" He sat down in a puddle of blood and shit and piss. "Hmmm. Something that makes fun of him for being black, obviously—I mean, what's funnier than that right?" He thought for a moment. "Hm. How about Sergeant Mega Pythonic Mandingo Dick!" He squirmed in the filth. "No, no, that's gay."

The Master Chief snapped his fingers. "I've got it! 'Nigger!'" He stood up hurriedly, staggering from his massive blood lose and vomiting into his armor. "Well now that the most important thing is done I can move on to HA HA HA HA! HA HA SHIT IN A BALLSACK" he slipped on a condom and fell, smashing his head against the toilet. "FUCK! I HATE TOILETS." He stumbled out of the door, punching a hole through the vagina of the silhouette of a woman on the woman's restroom sign on the door to the woman's restroom.

"That was way harder to explain to myself than it should have been," he said as he closed the door behind himself. He looked up. Standing in a long wait line were dozens and dozens of Covenant troopers, all waiting for the bathroom. A red Elite pointed at him.

"Hey you!" he said, oblivious to the blood shit and shaving cream covering the Spartan's armor and the fact that he had just come out of the bathroom itself. "No cutting in front—go to where the line starts, asshole!"

The Master Chief cocked his head. "Oh. Okay."

Then he punched the alien so hard that all its limbs exploded, including its head. The spurting limbless torso of the Elite shot backwards through the line at the speed of a cosmic ray, spinning and catching on fire like a deadly bowling ball made of armor and severed arm stumps. It literally tore through the crowd; severed limbs and blood showered in its wake along with a cacophony of screams. The mutilated torso splattered full on in into the last Covenant in line (a cowering grunt) splattering both bodies into a thin multicolored haze that hung in the air for a full minute.

"_The line starts here_." The Master Chief spread his arms. "And they say courtesy is dead."

He trudged through the smoking trough of corpses to get out of the restroom area. The door opened into the ships rec room. Dead bodies were splayed out over furniture and had slumped over their various recreational activities, plasma burns all over their skin.

"Reminds me of Keyes's nursing home in Detroit."

He walked over to the coffee machine. There was a day old pot of Coffee in the machine, which he took out and poured himself a cup off. A cup made the bolted together parts of people's skulls or possibly Styrofoam. He sipped the coffee through his air vents.

It was the worst god damn coffee in the world.

"Hey this is pretty good." The Master Chief finished the cup and then tossed in the waste bin. "If only people could drink coffee and loosen up like me, then there wouldn't be so much ethnocentric religious intolerance or _30 Rock_. Be cool bro."

He grabbed the back of a dead woman's head and held her up like a puppet, shaking her back and forth. "You're so intelligent Master Chief!" he mouthed, shaking the rotting corpse so that the jaw flapped open and closed. "You're so fucking brilliant I could kiss you!"

Suddenly his radio rang.

"Hello?"

There was a pause from the other end, then a woman's uncertain voice. "Hello?"

"Yeah, hello," said the Master Chief. "Hi. Who is this?"

"Who is…who're you?" The voice sounded familiar.

"You called me," he said. "It's the Master Chief. Who are you?"

"The Master—" the person on the end sighed. "Oh. It's me, Chief. It's Oreo. I think there's something wrong with your radio. For a second there I thought…"

The Master Chief grinned. "What did you think?"

"I thought you sounded like Cercil." She laughed. "I know, stupid right?"

"Ha-ha, yes," he chortled. "You are very stupid."

"…Right. So I guess you took care of the generator all right, right?"

"Riiight." The Master Chief slowly doodled a lock of brittle blonde hair around his finger from the corpse's head. "So…what are you wearing?"

"What? Armor."

"Oh yeah? And how tight is it?"

"Um… I called to tell you that we just got Keyes's neural implant and we're on our way to the Pillar of Autumn." Her voice softened. "We found Keyes, Chief. He's shaken up and someone hit him in the face." She cleared her throat. "Anyways, I just thought you'd want to know. I know how much he means to you …"

"Yeah, I don't give a fuck. Just don't call me 'Chief.'"

"…Why."

His jaw clenched. "What do you mean 'why?' Just don't _fucking do it_."

"Okay. Calm down, Chief."

"WHAT THE FUCK DID I JUST SAY YOU STUPID COW!" The Chief threw the desiccated corpse across the room, slamming it into the wall with a loud snapping sound.

There was silence from the other end of the radio. The Master Chief let out a long sigh.

"I'm sorry babe, that was all me."

"You think?"

"I know, I know. It's not your fault Cookie, it's just annoying how much of dairy slut you are sometimes."

"A what?"

"Nothing. Look," he stifled a giggle "I'm already on the Pillar of Autumn. We can have dinner." He glanced at the open, moldy fridge of the rec room stuffed full of putrid haggis. "Some wine." He eyed the pooling coagulated blood of the corpses in the room. "Work things out, you know."

"Okay." She sounded somewhat disconcerted. "Where should we meet you?"

The Master Chief waved his hand airily. "Oh, call me when you get here. I've got no idea what or who I might be in by then."

Oreo's voice caught. "Chief—I mean, um, Master Chief. There's something I have to say, okay. I…well it's hard for me to say this since I know we've had a lot of disagreements, and there are still a lot of things I want to scream at you about and hit you for. But if we don't make it—I mean if we fail, you know. Well…I just want you to know that—"

"Too long didn't listen!" shouted the Master Chief. He cut the comm. On the other end Oreo covered her ears in pain, a look of shock on her face.

"Anyways," said the Master Chief back on the Autumn as he re-hinged his jaw, the bulge of an entire human body traveling slowly down his throat as he put his helmet back on. "Where was I?"

He looked around the rec room. He had posed the corpses into various hilarious positions; two sitting across from each other playing chess with the severed finger tips of everyone in the room, one bending over the couch to pick up its severed head, and the last upside down from the ceiling with no skin dripping crimson gore.

"Well, I thought it was funny," said the Master Chief to nobody.


	22. Chapter 10 One of Two

**Chapter Ten**

**The Truth and Reconciliation Taking the Back the Door into the Maw, Part One**

**Or**

**aCT 3iI-COnveRGAEANCE !1!1**

A plasma cutter sliced through a door inside one of the Pillar of Autumn's empty and sealed escape pod chambers. The door fell open and in came Commander Darren and his entourage.

"No worries guys," said Darren to the others, leading the way into the dank corridor, "I know the Flood killed everyone on the Truth and Reconciliation, but we can still get to the hanger here and escape in one of the human fighter ships." He grinned to himself. "This is my best plan yet!"

Oz the Stealth Hunter gave him a look. "Why didn't we just lift off in the Truth and Reconciliation? You only need two people to pilot that thing."

"Because that ship is crawling with the Flood," said Darren. "Duh."

"But," said Eric the Jackal, "Why didn't we just take off in one of the Truth and Reconciliation's fighter ships?'

Darren's eyes narrowed and he stopped and turned on them. "Sure, it's easy to pick out my mistakes from the peanut gallery!" He pointed at the group at large. "But if you were in charge you would have done the same damn thing. I had no way of knowing whether we would have been able to reach the hangers at all with all the Flood in the way, or if there were any ships left!""

"I'm not saying I want to be in charge," said Eric.

"I am," said Kit Fisto, who had been listening silently to this entire exchange. "You're all idiots."

"I just think," continued the Jackal over her, "that you should think through your plans more carefully before carrying them out."

"Or, we could just not do them, too. I mean…" Oz shrugged as Darren turned his stare on him. "Just saying."

"Do you have any better ideas?" asked Darren.

Kit Fisto raised her hand. "I do. Let's not put freakish mutants in charge of our entire armada."

"What?" Darren frowned. "But I never put Oz in charge."

"Very funny," said Oz the single hunter.

Eric laughed. Fisto rounded on him. "And as a side not, let's try not to spend all our time sodomizing each other." She glanced at Oz. "Or complaining!"

"Do we get to keep one out of three of those things?" asked Darren, looking fondly at Eric who grinned.

"Jesus Christ." Fisto un-holstered her plasma rifle. "I'm surrounded fucking idiots." She walked towards the other end of the corridor, to the entry door.

"Fisto!" shouted Darren, tearing himself away from his bird-lover. "You know you can't go alone! We have a better chance of surviving if we stick together!"

"Please stop yelling," said Oz. "Something might hear us."

"Shut up." Darren waved Fisto back frantically.

"Yeah, no," said Fisto, turning to the door. "I'll take my chances with this ship." She reached for the door out of the airlock and hacked it open.

A wave of blood erupted through and crashed into the corridor in a crimson tsunami. The blood blast bowled Fisto head over heels and she landed upside down against the wall like a thirteen year old trying to suck his own dick, her entire lower body submerged in the sudden swamp of red vitae that had inundated the corridor. Darren and Eric were both blasted into the wall on either side of her as the sanguine tide slammed into them, though Oz remained where he was, creating an empty silhouette in the wave of vital fluids. By the time the river of blood had settled they were all covered in hemoglobin.

Dark bubbles popped up from Fisto's submerged head, and she began to thrash. Darren fished her arm out and helped her stand right side up.

"What the hell was that!" Fisto held one nostril shut and blew chunky blue and red snot out the other. Her face dripped angry red droplets. "I'm going to have blood boogers for months."

"Now look whose complaining," said Darren. He looked at Eric. "You okay?"

"I think I got some in my mouth," said Eric, wiping quickly coagulating fluids from his face.

Darren stared at him.

"What?"

Oz walked over to them, wading easily through the fresh tide of horror. "Is nobody else surprised by what just happened?"

"Of course we're surprised," said Darren. "We just don't feel the need to state our emotions out loud for everyone to hear, since we were all here when it happened. This is the military, Osborne; we don't break radio silence unless absolutely necessary."

"Or unless we need to make a booty call on our gay Jackal lover," said Kit Fisto.

Darren nodded. "Or unless we need to disguise ourselves as black men for no discernible reason."

"Hey, you know, just carrying out effective plans."

"Let me know how that works out for you; I'll be over here doing all the actual work and taking responsibility."

Fisto raised her eyebrows. "Must be hard to do all that with a dick in your ass."

"Um, guys," said Eric, exchanging a glance with Oz. "Maybe we should focus on figuring out where a thousand gallons of human blood came from." He looked around at the ship, at its monochrome walls, harsh angled corners, and deep shadows. The creaking of a hundred different interlocking support structures under strain from the erosion of the elements echoed through every corridor, infecting the shadows with a drifting, moaning life of their own as they flickered lazily with every irregular spark of the emergency lights, lights of a bright crimson hue that reflected the color of the blood that had inundated the world around them, staining all things with the mark of death.

"I think we're in hell."

"Don't be ridiculous." Darren tapped a wall. It was solid, reinforcing his point. "There's a perfectly logical explanation for all of this." A tapping sound came from the other side of the wall. It tapped six hundred and sixty six times. Darren took a step away from it. "This ship is fine."

"I suppose it could be worse," conceded Fisto, inspecting a handful of gunky vein juice she had scooped up from the tide lapping at their mid-sections. "It could be Covenant blood."

They began to wade through the hallway, up to their waists in the fresh river. "Yeah, exactly," said Darren. "And anyways who cares what's going on; all we need to do is go steal a ship and fly away. Piece of cake."

"What if the hanger bay is full of blood?" asked Oz. Nobody paid any attention.

"All right," said Eric resignedly as they passed through the blood door and headed towards another on the other end of the next hall. He smacked his lips. "Man, my mouth still tastes like copper."

"Am I the only one who thinks we're all going to die?" asked Oz.

"Quit your whining," shot Darren over his shoulder as he reached for the next door.

He opened it.

A wave of Covenant blood erupted through and crashed into the corridor in a crimson tsunami. The blood blast bowled Darren head over heels and he landed upside down against the wall like a Kit Fisto trying to suck her own dick, his entire lower body submerged in the sudden swamp of deep purple vitae that had inundated the corridor and melded with the original body. Kit Fisto and Eric were both blasted into the wall on either side of him as the sanguine tide slammed into them, though Oz remained where he was, creating an empty silhouette in the wave of vital fluids. By the time the river of mixed blood had settled they were all covered in hemoglobin.

Dark purple bubbles began to appear above Darren's submerged head. Kit Fisto looked down at him and did not help him. Eventually Darren slipped sideways off the wall and splashed beneath the surface, then sputtered to his feet. The 'water' level had risen to their chests.

"Is this going to happen every time we open a fucking door? Jesus Christ!" he sprayed dark fluids everywhere

"Don't you mean 'Holy Prophets?'" asked Fisto sweetly. "Or, High Charity, or Great Forerunners?"

Oz raised his hand. "For that matter why are we speaking in English? I don't even know what English is."

"Enough talk!" Darren pushed past them and splashed through the next corridor. "There's no time for superfluous banter or meta humor; we have to get the hell out of this madhouse."

"See?" said Oz to Eric as they followed the Commander. "I told you we were in hell." Eric shrugged.

"It could be worse," said Kit Fisto. "Cercil could be here."

(ironic foreshadowing)

"Johnson, I think Cercil is possessing the Chief."

Johnson dumped the visibly aging body of Captain Keyes and turned to look at Oreo, ethnic consternation on his face. "What cho' sayin nigs?"

Oreo disengaged the safety or whatever on her rifle and the empty clip slipped out. She didn't reload it, because it's implied that she will do that. "Don't tell me you didn't hear that on the radio," she said with forced calm as her eyes scanned the corridor. Mendoza had been taken by the Flood—dragged away into the darkness and torn apart before their eyes. The memory still burned a hole in her brain.

"True, I checked some of that shit," said Johnson judiciously as he made sure the Captain was still alive. An angry purple welt had appeared on the old man's aging, leathery complexion where Oreo had hit him. "But dat nigga be trippin all the damn time."

"God." Oreo rolled her eyes. "Could you drop the pseudo ebonics for one second?" She shook her head, scanning the shadowed corridor ahead and behind them. The escape from the bridge had been difficult. Mendoza had been shot in the legs by one of the horrific creatures and had bled out as they fought their way out of the room. She sighed—the memory still burned like an inflamed wound in her mind. "Look, I recognized some of the, um, words Chief used. Just trust me Johnson—I've noticed their similarities for a long time. It's like they're missing parts from each other." She bit her lip. "Two parts of _evil_."

"Shit's sick nasty," agreed Johnson.

The corridor rumbled as if from some terrible force stirring deep within it. That had been happening since they had escaped the bridge and begun fighting their way back towards the hangar bay. Once, the shaking had tripped Mendoza up, and he'd fallen only to be set upon by a hundred infector forms. They'd had to leave him behind. The memory still burned, inflamed and prolapsed.

Johnson frowned as he picked up Keyes and they set off again. "Wait, who is this Cercil person?"

"The purple monster who screams all the time." Oreo glared at a particularly obnoxious shadow.

"Oh. I recall that niggor," said Johnson sagely, stroking his stubble.

Oreo eyed him. "Right."

"Hold on girlfriend," said Mendoza as he emerged from the shadows off to the right, "just because the Chief got angry at you doesn't mean he's gone all evil and stuff!" He put his hands on his hips and sassed his head back and forth, adding "Gurrrl" for emphasis.

Oreo jumped, but calmed down almost instantly and tossed him one of the pistols they'd picked up. "Ah! There you are. I'll explain in a minute. I was wondering why it took you so long."

"What are you talking about?" Mendoza checked the pistol and nodded at Johnson. "Hey there, bear."

Johnson's nostrils flared. He bent over and hoisted Keyes over his broad shoulders, Mendoza watching idly. Oreo snapped her fingers in front of his face.

"Eyes on the prize. No, the other prize. I mean survival." She straightened and began leading them down the corridor again, aiming her rifle ahead at the faint purple lights that loomed towards them from the murk. "On any other day I'd agree with you," she said over her shoulder to the gay Marine. "But not this time."

He raised his Mexican eyebrows. "Como?"

Oreo clenched her jaw. "During the whole conversation, Cortana didn't say a damn word."

Johnson snorted. "So wut? Maybe dat bitch didn't have shit ta say…"

They all stopped and looked at each other.

"Oh my lordy," said the black Sergeant quietly. Oreo nodded, her face made of stone.

"What do you think happened?" asked Mendoza in hushed tones, kind of like the hushed tones two gay men use when having sex through a glory hole, but that's all theory to me.

"We have to assume the worst," said Oreo without any particular grief. "It's most likely that this 'John Cercil hybrid,' this Cerciljohn, this Johncercil—"

"Jercil?" offered Johnson.

Oreo cleared her throat. "That Cohn has murdered Cortana."

Johnson threw his hands up in the air. "COOOOHN!"

"How do you murder a computer?" interrupted Mendoza.

Oreo waved a hand. "Uninstalled her. Whatever."

"Damn. That's…" Johnson tried to search for a word. "If you're right, nigga, that shit is ghetto."

"Word up," said Mendoza. "Up the butt." He winked.

"Yeah." Oreo rolled her eyes. "Sure is. I mean, we all know how much fun Cortana was to have around."

Johnson and Mendoza looked at each other. "I guess," said the gay marine. "Hopefully she'll have made a back up somewhere, and we can get her back."

Oreo frowned. "That would be just our luck, wouldn't it?" Her giant mammary glands jiggled when she shrugged. "Oh well. Let's keep moving. We have to get back to the hangar and get the captain back to the Pillar. Whether the Chief is beyond helping now or not, we still need to activate the Autumn's self destruct sequence, and Keyes is the only one who can do that."

"We know," said Mendoza. "You don't have to keep reminding us of what we're doing, sweetheart. It's not like we've been on commercial break or something."

(meta self referential irony)

As they moved they always kept an eye on their back, and on the ceiling too; once, Mendoza had been dragged into an anachronistic grating on the ceiling. His blood had sprayed down all over them as something tore him apart. After that Johnson and Oreo made a pact to get tested if they ever got out alive.

"Hold up." Oreo made a fist. Johnson and Mendoza came up short, Mendoza staring at Oreo's fist as if he was having some sort of flashback, god knows of what. The Lieutenant pointed down a side corridor. "I know that hallway. It's the way to the brig."

"Why th' hall wud they pewt tha brig so close to the bridge?" asked Johnson. "Wut if tha prisoners got oot?"

Oreo just stared at him. "Johnson…your accent is slipping into…something else."

He blinked. "What? Oh. My bad, shorty."

Mendoza raised a hand like a gay little school boy. "Maybe they put the prison queens there for 'easy-access' for the rest of the ship." He winked, but wilted under Oreo's glare.

"I was a prisoner here," she said icily. "I'm pretty sure I'd remember gay sex cult meetings." She looked vaguely off into the distance. "Come to think of I don't remember much of what happened. Sleep deprivation is a bitch for your memory."

The ship rumbled ominously for a moment and then went still.

"Tell me about it," said Mendoza. "This one time on the butte, I 'entertained' so many guys that I was up all night, didn't get a _wink_ of sleep. Well…my _eyes _didn't wink."

"…There are some things in every part of my life that I wish I could forget, of course," said Oreo, looking faintly ill. She pointed at the door to the brig. "We need to check in here, see if there are any more human prisoners still here."

"Good idea," said Johnson as Keyes stirred in his sleep. "Maybe someone will know where those zombie things came from."

"Yeah." Oreo nodded at Keyes. "Someone who can form a complete thought without screaming about his diseases or the 'right place for women.'"

They piled through the door and were greeted by a handful of Flood Combat forms. They were invited inside, that is attacked, and offered drinks, that is deadly strangling tentacles. The humans introduced themselves, that is shot stabbed and blew up everything in sight.

"Ah, prison," exclaimed Sergeant Johnson as the dust cleared, revealing rows of cells. "So much of my life has revolved around it."

Oreo groaned. "Shut the fuck up, Johnson."

The noise seemed to finally rouse Keyes from his slumber. "Eh? What's going on here?" His eyes widened. "My god! It's the race riots all over again! PUT ME DOWN YOU GOD FORSAKEN SPEAR CHUCKER."

Johnson obliged him, shouldering Keyes off. The old Captain cried out in pain when he hit the ground and got shakily to his feet. He squinted at them. "Mendoza? Johnson? Housewife?"

Oreo rolled her eyes. "Johnson, make sure he doesn't hurt himself."

"What if I hurt him?"

"Hey now!" Keyes put his rickety hands on his hips and glared about the energy-cell lined room. "I'm the Captain of this boat, girl," he said to Oreo. "With age comes rank and with rank comes respect, and you better believe that I've seen more action than you and your ethnic friends combined."

"I'm half Japanese," said Oreo.

Keyes pulled back with a hiss. "A HALF BREED! My god, what is this man's army coming to?"

"Wow, he's really grumpy when he wakes up," said Mendoza.

Before Oreo could respond, a deep voice called from one of the cells. "Hey, is there someone there? Someone who is alive, I mean?"

Oreo signaled Johnson to hang back with Keyes, who was now muttering to himself and rubbing his pants, which he had pulled up past his stomach just like old people do. The outline of his lumpy wiener was barely visible in the pants, as well as his hard and thick pubic hair which had never been groomed once in his entire life.

As they approached the cell they saw that it was not a human in it, but a Covenant Elite. It was wearing red armor, and when it saw them its demeanor drooped disappointedly.

"It's a Covenant prisoner," said Oreo over her shoulder. She tapped the energy barrier of the cell to make sure it was stable, then relaxed.

"Why would the Covenant keep one of their own species in the brig?" asked Mendoza.

"I don't know," said Oreo. "Maybe for _easy access_." She rolled her eyes. The Elite glared at her but said nothing.

"Gosh darn golly!" blurted Keyes as he walked up. "I remember this noodlehead!"

"Oh my god," said Mendoza. "He actually remembers something!"

Keyes shot him a look. "Zip it, shirt lifter." He pointed at the occupied cell. "This homosexual fiend tried to molest me when I was captured by those god-less heathens."

"Oh hey, I remember you," said the alien, instantly dropping its stoicism. "The demon came to save you, but it looks like you came back. Did you want to finish our _poker game_?" He sexually squeezed a pack of cards.

"By demon he means the Chief…" mused Oreo quietly. She turned to the others. "This creep has been stuck in here for a while. Maybe he's seen something."

"I have indeed," said the red Elite. It looked at her, squinting. "I think I remember your voice, screaming in agony every day that you were locked in here."

The ship rumbled again. Oreo stabilized herself, her hands shaking slightly against the wall. "Yeah, well…I never imagined the horrors of panty-hose on head torture. Damn that bastard Cercil."

Mendoza looked at her. "What…just a…just a panty hose on your head? That's it?"

"You weren't there, man." Oreo wiped sudden cold sweat from her brow. "You _weren't there_."

Johnson nudged Oreo conspiratorially, jerking his wide chin at the Elite. "Ah, shorty, I bet this nigga was one of yo prison bitches, amirite?"

Oreo ignored him completely. "Do you know what the Flood is?"

"The Flood?" the Elite spread its fingers. "The space zombies that tried to get into my cell? Strange things—it's almost as if whatever—or whoever—designed them had no idea of how biology or biochemistry works, at all. And I know all about that kind of stuff, because I am a man of science."

"Unless you plan on talking them out of existence, you'll have to give us something better than that-if you want out of this cell."

"Are you proposing some sort of Faustian bargain, human?"

"What does fisting have to with any of this?" asked Mendoza. He looked around at the angry faces turned towards him. "…What?"

"Ignore him," said Oreo.

"I plan to," said the red Elite. "By the way…call me the Heretic Leader, or Heretic for short."

"What? What kind of name is that?" asked Oreo. "Are you some sort of heretic? Is that why you're in the cell?"

"Heretic?" It looked indignant. "No, of course not!" it made a Nazi salute. "All hail the Prophet of Truth! Remove the human obstruction!" Oreo glared but it kept on talking. "Not everyone happens to be exactly what their name means, you know!"

"I know what you mean," she conceded. 'But then why are you in a cell?"

Heretic smirked. "The reason for that just so happens to be one of the things I'm going to tell you, and one of the reasons you're going to let me out."

"Well then spit it the fuck out." Johnson stepped up beside her and flashed an XXXL sized condom at the heretic, grinning sadistically. "We have ways of making you jive, Covie bastard."

Heretic's eyes widened. "Are you threatening to rape me?"

"Jesus." Mendoza gaped at the black man. "That's pretty extreme, Johnson."

"What? " Johnson held up his hands. "No! I was—I meant—I was threatening him with condom-on-head torture! That's all! I swear!"

Heretic's mouth(s) hung open. "FUCK. You humans really are mad, aren't you? Not a care for alien dignity." It backed away to the other end of the cell. "I'll talk! Just don't put a condom on my head!"

"Wow," said Oreo. "I can't believe that actually worked." She pointed." Spill the beans, squidward."

Now that he was further away from them, Heretic crossed his arms like a brooding anime character and sneered. "Fine. Let me tell you the secret of the Covenant in terms a foolish _human_ might understand." He cleared his throat. "Do you know that song 'Run this Town?' by Rihanna and Kanye and that other black guy?"

"I don't listen to gangster rap," said Johnson.

Keyes looked faintly confused. "Of course. Everyone knows of it. We burn cds of their music at the clan rallies."

Oreo glanced from the Johnson to the Captain. "Wait, what?"

"Right," said Heretic. "Well you know in the music video the part where they're in the temple like area, and there's a bunch of half naked black men holding torches and everyone is all oiled up?"

Mendoza nodded enthusiastically. Oreo rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Yes…"

"Well," finished Heretic sagely, "that's what I mean. The only thing that's on the Covenant's mind is how much lube is on your behind."

Keyes gasped, his pants climbing still further over his middle-aged gut until they covered his large dark hairy nipples as they pressed through the thin fabric of his faded command grays. "My god! Do you mean to say…that the Covenant is a _gay sex cult_?"

**DUN DUN DUN.**

"Yeah, I already told you that, remember?" Heretic pressed his finger tips together sagely. "At least, that's how it began. After all…The Covenant used to be called… _**The Cockinbutt**_."

**DUN DUN DUN NA NA NA NA NA**

A grin spread across Mendoza's pouty blowjob lips as Oreo held her face in her hands, shaking with suppressed frustration.

"So," he asked, "how do I join?"

"Humans aren't allowed," snapped Heretic T. Leader. "Neither are those who know the terrible truth of the Cockinbutt—except for the Prophets. Or as they were once called, the Prolapsed. That's why I was confined here; I discovered the truth, hidden deep in the bowels of High Charity, in the intestines of the Prophet's chambers, in the rectum of-"He trailed off. "Well let's just say that the Prophets decided to use prison, the one thing in the universe with the power to turn straight men gay, against me. A purely political maneuver you understand." He sniffed.

"Oh, boyfriend, prison isn't the only thing that can turn guys over to the other side of the fence," said Mendoza, picking his finger nails.

"Okay." Oreo's voice was shaking. She pressed her palms down on the air in front of her, as if pushing something back down beneath the water. "Okay. Let's move on." She took a deep breath. "Besides _more bullshit_" she swallowed "do you have anything useful to tell us? Like, why the Truth and Reconciliation is shaking itself apart?"

"Of course." Heretic indicated the bulkheads around them. "As the Flood overran this ship, Commander Darren initiated the self destruct sequence of the warp core in the hope that it would detonate and stop the flood from taking off and infecting the rest of the fleet."

"A 'self-destruct sequence,'" retorted Oreo dryly. "Why would a ship ever have that?"

"The Pillar of Autumn has one, shorty," pointed out Sergeant Johnson.

"Wait a minute," said Oreo, waving at Johnson. She eyed Heretic. "…How long do we have before the ship blows up?"

The cell block rumbled ominously.

"Um," said Heretic.

The Master Chief german-suplexed a flood combat form into the deck, smashing its entire upper body into thick clumps of mustard/pickle relish. Gore went everywhere, especially all over his crotch, collecting like an enormous sticky diaper of shredded, pulsating, rotten putrefied disgusting, damp, dripping, moldy, oozing, shredded eruptions of blood explosion gristle fest.

"Looks like this guy...couldn't keep it together." He began to laugh and never stopped.

The Master Chief slammed a Covenant's soldier's head into a toilet bowel and broke his neck against the ceramic rim with a boot stomp. He flushed the toilet as the dead warrior gurgled into the water.

"Earth and water—you'll find plenty of that in there." He paused. "Damn, there are a lot of toilets on this ship."

Then he turned around and threw a knife into a cloaked Covenant Elite's head, splitting it in half and spraying brains everywhere. "Guess you just couldn't cut it."

Then he threw a homemade Molotov cocktail at a cluster of sentinels, setting them all on fire. Their circuitry shorted and melted as they collapsed, twitching and sporadic, dying an agonizingly slow death. The Master Chief threw his hands to the ceiling and screamed.

"I SHOULD HAVE BEEN THE ONE TO FILL YOUR DARK SOUL WITH LIIIIIiiiIIIIiIGHT!"

He shot bullets into people, then grabbed a fire axe and laid into a Covenant hunter, splattering orange juice and clumps of pumpkin flesh everywhere. "SKULLS FOR THE THRONE OF BONE!"

A fuel rod cannon fired directly into his face. The Master Chief's body was blasted backwards into a wall, the entire room burning with green radiation. "Aaaah oh my god it burns so good!" He rolled around in a puddle of jet fuel. It caught fire and the Master Chief became an inferno of flame, roasting alive in his own armor. "ALMOST….THERE!" He grabbed a hammer and smashed it into his crotch as some Covenant soldiers looked on in absolute horror. The corridor of the Pillar of Autumn flashed with the cavorting shadow of the Master Chief as he smashed his ragged genitals through his splintered crotch armor with the iron pulverizing of a hammer and moaned into to the burning lick of the flames.

"AAaaah." The Master Chief let the hammer fall from his fingers. "I CAME."

Five Elites and two hunters were the only ones left standing. They looked at each other. The SPARTAN pulled a plasma grenade out.

"Betcha I can't stick it all the way up your asses." The camera zoomed in on his visor. "_All of them. At once. Covenant Centipede._"

The experiment didn't last long—the plasma grenade detonated on its way through the middle.

"ANOTHER VICTORY FOR SCIENCE!" said the Chief as he wore their skulls like a men wearing their hearts on their sleeves.

He glided through a blood stained abattoir of a hallway, past cracked observation windows splattered with bloody sand and dust, his figure drifting like a twisted black wraith through shafts of hot light cast by Halo's desert sun, like a beetle wandering across the bloody dunes. Amongst the dunes outside tiny dots milled; Flood Combat forms pushing and clawing in a mad wave of necrotic flesh.

They were running away.

The Master Chief's armor was no longer green, or shining, or smooth. Literal weeks of non-stop warfare had left a thousand scars upon it. The last five hours had stripped it of anything resembling elegance or beauty. He had become furnace of caked gore, without identifiable limbs or a head, only a haze of blood and filth bearing down on everything that lived. There was no telling where the blood stopped and the man began.

"God damn I need a bath or some purell or something, this shit is ripe." He walked on. "I just need to make some soap out of dead people first."

"That's a refined process," said one of the tan walls of the Pillar of Autumn.

He high-fived the wall."Don't worry man, I didn't get this degree in human resource management for nothing. Nice tan by the way. Good to see you again."

"Thanks bro," said the wall, and went off to pick up some babes and kill them and put them in the trunk of his mustang.

The Master Chief moved on to the med bay where his fellow SPARTANs were recovering from surgery. Dr. Hasley was sitting at her desk.

"I'm sorry John, but almost everyone died," she said with sadness in her eyes. "It turns out that tearing skin and flesh asunder to pluck the bones and morrow away and replace them with cold unyielding steel is really dangerous."

He shrugged. "Less competition for me."

Hasley's lip curled sarcastically. "Your parents would be proud of you, if they could see you."

"And whose fault is that again?" The Master Chief lunged forwards with a growl and swiped at her face. Her flesh glitched and changed, her features staying the same but turning transparent and glowing blue.

"Just kidding Chief, it was me," said Cortana. She winked.

"I killed you," said the Master Chief. He twitched in pleasure at the memory, popping one of his vertebrae in a violent orgasm.

"Of course you did," said Cortana, her face flickering between her normal glowing countenance and a dead, rotting, worm stuffed husk of a screaming mummified skull. "In case you hadn't noticed, this is a hallucination."

The stench of lies clogged the world as every dead SPARTAN rose from their biers, pointing ghostly maggot fingers at him. Their faces were empty holes in the world and they screamed, a high pitch whine that blocked out the universe with emptiness and sorrow.

_Murderer._

"Damn, and I thought I was too old for wet dreams." The Master Chief scratched his 'nads. "What's the point of resolving your psychological issues if you still have to deal with this shit?"

"Right," said Cortana, "because you've totally resolved everything and are completely normal now."

The Master Chief brushed off the roll of intestines he had wrapped around his shoulder. It splattered to the floor. "Exactly."

"Things didn't use to be this bad, John."

He laughed, a squeaking sound like a rusting hinge. "Don't call me John, shut your whore mouth."

Cortana ignored him. "The sociopathic outbursts. The insanity. The hallucinations, the retardation, the race hate. The dreams. Cercil. When did things get so bad?"

"I thought killing you would shut you up but that didn't work. The only logical step now would be to kill everything in the universe with a mouth. Or put out my own ears."

"The answer is out there, Chief. You just have to look hard. Remember…"

"DON'T CALL ME CHIEF!" screamed the Master Chief. He looked around. The room was empty—he wasn't in the Spartan med bay at all; he was in the engine room. Great pistons worked above him, the perfect location to sabotage the Autumn's engine core and initiate a deadly self destruct sequence. It was the only way to stop the Flood, to stop Halo, to save the galaxy.

"I'm hungry." The Master Chief turned around and left. "All this slaughtering has really worked me up a hunger and a thirst for some good old fashioned chicken pot pies! My favorite part is dat gravy."

And it was off to the mess hall. It arrived there shortly.

The Master Chief picked through the rotting bodies that covered the floor, the remnant of that deadly skirmish in the cafeteria so very long ago. He accidentally stepped on a bloated corpse, splattering it like a human ketchup packet.

"Wow, condiments are getting sparser every day. And we have to pay for them now." He sidestepped a dead grunt with a burger jammed into its butt. "I can't believe what the fast food industry has come to—this is all the fault of those Asians who stole a couple dozen ketchup packets every time they bought food. I mean, I get that they were trying to save money, I can respect that, but seriously—it's just abusive and dishonest to take advantage of the restaurant like that." He kicked a dead woman in the head, dislodging the hot dog jammed in her eye. "There are better ways to save money than ketchup packets anyways. And what did they think was going to happen, you know?" He almost slipped in a day old puddle of blood and liquefied bodies; they had been caught in the blast of a pressurized ketchup bottle. "I mean of course the-" he knelt down, plucked a hand full of french-fries out of a Marine's chest, and nibbled on them through his respirator as he moved on. "Mmm, these fries have heart, I'll give them that. Anyways-of course the companies were going to start limiting how many ketchup packets you could take with a fee system. The problem is that if you have a bunch of friends—" he stepped on a dead Elite's neck, which had been synched lethally shut with an onion ring garrote "—and you all want ketchup packets, why should you have to pay extra for getting the necessary condiments to satisfy everyone, right? I mean, that's bullshit." He stepped over the body of a Marine, who had died of cardiac arrest from eating too much fast food. "Just completely ridiculous and unrealistic."

Finally the Master Chief made it over to the kitchen. There was no one there—old pans of grease sat stagnant on the fryers, patties were covered in flies, buns were moldy, blood had splattered the floor. The body of the manager chef was curled on the floor, dead from a million burns.

"Where the fuck are the serving staff?" The Master Chief glared around at the cafeteria. "This is fucking ridiculous—who the hell is running this joint anyways. I'm going to complain on yelp." He went into the kitchen and knelt down by the body and began poking it. "Hey! Get a hold of your kitchen staff! I want the thickest dick's barbeque burger you can make."

Suddenly, the door to the cafeteria opened. An extremely large hunter squeezed through, grumbling to himself.

"God damn it, _five _more blood explosions! Why do I always have to go first, huh?" The hunter's tiny head swiveled from left to right as it surveyed the carnage, not noticing the thing in the kitchen.

"Quit your complaining Oz," said Commander Darren as he bustled in. "I know this is the way to the hanger, we're almost done!" Kit Fisto followed, as did Eric the Jackal. They cleared the cafeteria, not spotting the Master Chief. Their armor was dripping and smudged with blood from continual 'baptisms.'

"Oh man," said Eric. "What happened here?" He picked at a chili dog that had been stuffed into a Marine's mouth, suffocating him. "This shit is real."

"OH YOU HAVE NO IDEA." The Master Chief popped up from behind the counter, trailing a bloody cloak of shredded guts.

"AAAAAAAAAAAH!" Eric the Jackal screamed.

Darren did a double take. "What—WHAT OH MY GOD WHAT IS IT!"

Spittle sprayed out of Kit Fisto's mouth. "FFFFFFffffffuuuu—"

Oz feinted. His enormous body crashed limply to the ground.

"WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN!" bellowed the Chief, blood spraying out of every crack in his armor. "I'VE BEEN WAITING HERE FOR FORTY FUCKING SECONDS FOR MY FUCKING DELUXE BEEFCAKE BURGER!"He slammed his fist into the cash register, splitting it in half. "WHO THE FUCK IS IN CHARGE OF YOU CUNT LICKERS!"

Darren pointed at Kit Fisto and began backing towards the door. "She is."

"No it's definitely him!" said Fisto hurriedly.

"Just don't _take my soul_!" said Eric, and he turned to run.

"NOT SO FAST!" The Master Chief grabbed a bottle of brown mustard and threw it at the door. The bottle smashed open, spilling bitter, acidic mustard all over the metal door. There was hiss and smoke as the mustard fused the door shut, permanently. The only other way out was past him.

"Oh prophets it's the devil. The devil has come for my sins!" Darren slammed his fists into the door. "Oh forerunners we're all going to die!"

Oz got up. "We were all thinking that, Commander, we just didn't feel the need to say it out loud because we're in the military."

"You shut up!" screeched Darren.

Eric covered his face. "I'm gonna be sick bro!"

"ALL OF YOU SHUT UP." The Master Chief hoisted himself over the counter and tumbled to the other side, landing on all fours like a spider. He straightened up. "ALL RIGHT YOU FUCKERS." He pointed behind him at the kitchen. "GET TO WORK YOU PACK OF MIN WAGE MEXICANS, OR I'LL SHOVE CURLY STRAWS THROUGH YOUR SKULLS AND DRINK YOUR FUCKING SOULS!"

Kit Fist suppressed a gag. "Ah…AH! It's a real demon! It looks like a used sausage grinder!"

"NO!" Darren clutched at his face. "It's like a rusty harvest thresher that just ran over a dead cow and has been baking in the sun for twelve hours!

"NO! NO!" Eric visibly peed himself. "It's like a—"

The Master Chief shot him in the head.

"WHAT DID I JUST SAY?' He lowered the smoking pistol. Darren gaped silently as Eric spun to the ground. The Master Chief pointed at the kitchen. "NOW GET IN THERE…" His head lowered ominously. "AND MAKE ME. A. SANDWIC. WOOOMUNH."

"ERIIIIIIIIC!" Darren fell to his knees, hugging the Jackals body. Oz stayed uncertainly. Fisto looked nervously around, backing away as the Master Chief advanced.

"Bro…" said Eric weakly around the huge hole in his head.

"Don't worry Eric," said Darren. "It's not that bad." He brushed a strand of hair out of the enormous hole between the Jackal's eyes. "We can get you to a Covenant doctor. They'll fix you right up."

"Everyone's dead, Bro," said Eric. "You know that won't…" he coughed up blood for some reason, his eyes going half closed.

"I know." Darren bowed his head. "Listen Eric…"

"You don't have to say anything, Bro," said Eric. "I know how you feel."

"You do?" asked Darren.

"Yes." Eric smiled peacefully. "I know you always meant to return my Incubus CD."

And then he died.

"Wait—what—NO!" Darren shook him. "That's not what I meant! Wake up!"

Eric fell limply from his hands to the ranch dressing stained deck. Darren slumped from his knees to a dejected bow.

"Commander," began Oz, putting his huge hand on his shoulder.

Darren turned around and punched him in the stomach. "Fuck off Oz, nobody wants your help." He wiped his eyes as the huge hunter doubled over, gasping for breath. When Darren looked up the Master Chief was standing in front of him.

"That shit is tragic yo."

"I'll kill you!" growled the Commander. He pulled out his plasma rifle. Cautiously, Kit Fisto pulled out hers as well. "OPEN FIRE—"

The Master Chief swatted the gun away and grabbed Darren by the throat and lifted him off the ground. Darren kicked and thrashed by could not escape the iron grip around his esophagus. His eyes began to bug out. Kit Fisto came in from behind and slammed the butt of her rifle into the Master Chief's back. The rifle splintered in half and he pushed her away so hard that she flew across the room to slam into the opposite wall with a loud bang.

Oz the Stealth Hunter rose up with his glowing fuel rod cannon. The Master Chief glanced over, snorted, and kicked the broken half of Fisto's plasma rifle off the ground, through the air, and into the nozzle of the Hunter's gun just as the weapon went off. There was a terrible flash of green light and a bang, and Oz found himself cradling a wrecked stump of armor and burned orange flesh.

"Aaaah!" he screamed. "My hand! It took my hand!"

"Shut up Oz!" gurgled Darren as the SPARTAN's iron grip squeezed his throat shut. "Nobody cares about your stupid problems!" His face began to go purple.

"Ow!" Fisto clutched her head, where blood from a gash on her forehead had run all over her eyes. "I can't see!"

"EVERYONE SHUT THE FUCK UP AGAIN!" The Master Chief threw Darren across the room, where he skidded and bumped across the ground and slammed into a cabinet in the kitchenette. The cabinet busted open and flour spilled out, covering Darren's bloodied body in pinked powder.

The Master Chief stormed across the room, grabbed an unconscious Kit Fisto by the rim of her helmet and dragging her towards the kitchen. He dumped her on top of Darren's squirming form and dusted his hands off. "THERE. NOW STAY IN THE FUCKING KITCHEN, SHIT SPICE."

Fisto's eyes snapped open and she stared him, going slightly cross eyed and trying to regain her balance. "You—I would recognize that voice anywhere! You're—"

"Shut up!" The Master Chief kicked her under the chin, sending her reeling back to slam into the large stove. "WHERE'S THE BEEF!"

"What?" Fisto winced and rubbed her bruised jaws as she tried to get Darren to stand up. "What are you talking—"

"THE BEEF." He pointed at the refrigerator. "I WANT THE BEEF, YOU UNDERSTAND ME!"

"…No?"

"MAKE ME A HAMMMMBURRGGEEER!" The Master Chief twisted his fingers around the air in front of him like a telekinetic titty twister. "Do it now, Senorita, or I'll, twist your nipples so hard they'll come off like drill bits!"

Fisto's face paled. "Okay, Jesus, god damn it!" She dragged an unsteady Darren to the fridge and opened it with one hand."Fuck, I don't know where the beef—"

The Master Chief's gore caked helmet thrust itself over her shoulder and he screamed in her ear, "IT'S RIGHT ON THE BOTTOM SHELF, FUCKPUDDING."

Fisto winced, avoiding looking at him or breathing. "What, there?"

"NOooooooOOo!" The Master Chief roared. "NOOOO! RIGHT **THERE!**"

"You're not pointing at anything!" Fisto snapped.

"FUCK!" The Master Chief pointed to a closed drawer in the fridge.

"What's going on!" Darren finally steadied himself and looked around as Kit Fisto frantically searched the meat drawer for beef-patty ingredients.

The Master Chief rounded on him and grabbed him by the throat, bearing down to growl in his face. "_WE'RE COOKING WITH GAS MOTHERFUCKER_." He tossed Darren aside. "GO GET A BUN OUT OF THE FREEZER AND WARM IT UP FOR ME, SLUT."

"Huh—what!" Darren massaged his throat. "What's going on I don't understand!"

"God damn it!" hissed Fisto as she straightened up with a package of shredded beef. "Just roll with it—are you trying to get us all killed?"

The Master Chief's head snapped up. Everyone froze. He slowly turned to stare at Oz, who had been tiptoeing for the door.

"Just where the FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING!" he screamed.

Oz flinched away, cradling his mutilated hand. "Um—nowhere, I—"

"BITCH PLEASE." The Master Chief pointed roughly to the deep pans of grease on the stove. "GET ON THE FRYER. **NOW**."

"Aaaah!" Oz rushed to comply. "Okay, okay! Don't hurt me!"

The Master Chief chuckled as he watched Oz fumble frantically at the stove, trying to turn the heat on. "Uh huh huh huh huh huh huh ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ah ha hah ha ha ha ha hah hnrrghghhhh hah ha hahh aha—"

Darren and Fisto looked at each other.

"Uh, right," said the Commander. He popped open the freezer and grabbed a frozen sesame seed hamburger bun that was probably a year old. He turned around. "Where is the, uh, micro—"

The Master Chief slammed him hard against the refrigerator/fridge and pressed their faces together. "I DON'T KNOW **_DARREN_ **WHERE IS THE FUCKING HOT BOX! MAYBE WE SHOULD ASK YOUR COCK SUCKING BOYFRIEND—OH WAIT, HE'S FUCKING DEAD. AND YOU WILL BE TO UNLES YOU HOP TO IT AND STOP STALLING LIKE THE SLIMEY ASSHOLE YOU ARE!"

Darren's eyes widened. "….Cercil?"

The blood stained visor somehow grinned and a low, burbling cackle escaped from behind it. "No, faggot. Not Cercil."

Fisto looked up from where she had set the meat package down on a cutting board and was trying to unwrap it as fast she could. "What? I thought it was the demon!"

"You're both wrong." The Master Chief pushed Darren away, crossing the room to where Oz the Stealth Hunter had started the fryer. "Just like you're wrong about your religion and your entire reason for existence you pathetic protein packet slurping fuck bundles!"

The stove beneath the pans flared to life and the old grease began to smoke. The Master Chief peered around Oz and watched this.

"_DISGUSTING._" He slapped the hunter upside the head.

"OW!" Oz clutched at his neck. "Jesus Christ that hurt!"

"GET SOME MORE GREASE!" snapped the Master Chief. "I WANT MY POTATOES DEEP FRIED."

"Yes sir please don't kill me sir!" Whimpering, Oz bent over and pulled a huge jug of peanut oil up from beside the stove. He used his armored hands to dump the hot trays out into the sink and then poured fresh grease in. It quickly began to bubble and boil.

"Good," said the Master Chief, staring into the sizzling, roiling depths. "Good."

At that moment Kit Fisto broke a meat-juice stained rolling pin over his head. The Master Chief did not even seem to notice, but the Spec Ops elite clutched at her wrist.

"Ow. I think I broke something."

He rounded on her, glared, and then scurried over to the half rolled meat patty. "WHAT THE HELL IS THIS, KEITH?"

"Keith?" Fisto blinked at him. "That's my disguise—"

"YEAH I KNOW IT'S YOUR FUCKING SLAVE NAME YOU MUTANT WHORE." The Master Chief made a grab for her but she barely dodged out of the way. "FINISH THE PATTY! TWO THOUSAND AND EIGHT NIGGER." He stormed past her to where Darren was trying to figure out the human micro wave.

"Fucking numerals!" Darren fumbled at the control panel, the frozen bun in one hand. "I don't understand this primitive monkey language!"

The Master Chief loomed behind him. He spoke in a suddenly quiet voice. "Well you better figure it out, Darren, because if you don't audit arithmetic one oh one right now I'm going to cut your stomach open and stuff that god damn bun inside to thaw it with your body heat."

Darren began to sweat visibly. "Um…right—" he flipped the door open and tossed the bun in. "Maybe I'll just turn it on and watch—"

"Not a chance!" The Master Chief grabbed him by the back of the neck and forced him onto his knees. "I want you…TO GO ROOTING IN THE PANTRY FOR POTATOES!"

Darren gasped. "Oh god—is that some sort of rape metaphor!"

"YOU WISH." The SPARTAN's boot slammed into Darren's ass and he scuttled across the floor towards the cabinet. The Master Chief watched him go.

"Faggot flesh."

"Um…the grease is boiling," said Oz. He flinched when the Master Chief turned his faceless gaze upon him.

"Good…good." The Master Chief's head began to rotate three hundred and sixty degrees. "Now go to the cutlery drawer. Get out a potato skinner. And then start skinning the potatoes."

"Yes sir thank your sir!" wept Oz, feeling his way through a haze of terrified tears. He tried to root through the drawer with his huge ham fingers but they could barely fit inside.

"You better hurry," said the Master Chief, watching. "Because if you're not done skinning those potatoes in the next minute, I'll skin you."

"There aren't any potatoes yet!" sobbed Oz.

"WELL THEN YOU BETTTER HURRY UP."

Fisto turned around with a roughly shaped hamburger patty in her hand. Her face was stone. "I finished the…thing. What now?"

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK!" The Master Chief grabbed a knife off the kitchen counter and threw it at her head. Fisto barely dodged in time, almost spilling the meat. The Master Chief watched her stand as the knife vibrated, buried deep in a wall cabinet.

"Good job," he said. "That was a test. If you'd spilled the meat, you would have got beat." He snickered.

Kit Fisto's lip curled. "You'll pay for this Cercil, you sick son of a bitch. I know you're in there somewhere."

The Master Chief laughed. "Aw, Fisto, you crack me up. Now cook me that hamburger before I get tired of that ugly face of yours and cut it off for toppings."

"Go to hell."

"Last warning," said the Master Chief cheerfully. "Or you'll be eating your own tongue. And then the rest of your body, piece by piece."

Fisto's knuckles popped, her fist straining to contain her rage. She wordlessly turned towards the stove and turned it on. She slapped the patty down, spraying meat flecks everywhere. The Master Chief watched, black drool oozing from his respirator as he muttered to himself in a satisfied fashion.

"I'm back!" panted Darren as he returned with two huge, fuzzy potatoes in either hand. "Where do I put these!"

"DO I HAVE TO DO EVERYTHING MYSELF!" The Master Chief rounded on him and slapped him in the face, bruising the Elite's eye. "WASH THEM IN THE SINK, NUMBSKULL."

"AH! Okay!" Darren rubbed his cheek and turned the water on. "So, uh, how long do we have to keep doing this until you let us go?"

Oz turned from the boiling grease and tiptoed over, pretending he wasn't listening.

"Actually," said the Master Chief, "I will tear you apart one by one until you are all dead."

"Oh." Darren carefully placed the potatoes in the sink and then looked from them to the Master Chief. "So…what's the point of having us do all this, then?"

"What do you mean?" The Master Chief cocked his head. "I'm hungry."

"Yeah," said Darren. "But you could easily do this…your…sel—"

Kit Fisto barged between them with a fried meat patty balanced on a spatula. "Whoa there sir, let me just get past you." She gave Darren a warning look and hissed "_shut up._" As she passed, the Master Chief reached out and goosed her soul, devouring a random cherished memory dear to her heart. It was spiritual harassment in the workplace.

"That's funny," said Fisto as she opened the microwave to see if the bun was ready. "For some reason I can't recall what I disguised myself as to sneak into the human base."

The Master Chief thumbed over his shoulder at Fisto. "See Darren, you pathetic waffling pucker-sniff; that's how a real worker works—taking initiative in the work place." He sighed. "I'll probably murder her last."

"I finished the potatoes master!" said Oz.

"Good." The Master Chief patted Oz on the shoulder. "Good job, Oz."

"Oh. Uh. Thanks?" Oz blinked. "Wow, you're actually the only person who seems to appreciate me. That's really ironic—"

The Master Chief kneed him in the groin.

"ARGH!" Oz fell to his massive knees. "The family jewels!" His voice cracked as well.

"Well Oz, looks like you've failed the test for most productive employee," said the Master Chief, opening a knife drawer and rooting around in it.

"But—but-Darren's just standing there talking. I finished my job!"

"True," said the Master Chief, pulling out a butcher knife. "Anyways, I'm going to have to cut off your other hand."

"What! No! How will I work? I'll never be able to feed my family!

"You should have thought of that before."

"BEFORE WHAT!"

The Master Chief grabbed Oz's arm and began to chop away with the knife while humming cheerfully. Orange blood sprayed everywhere and the hunter collapsed, bleeding, clutching the stump and whimpering. Darren snarled in annoyance kicked him.

"Quit whining you big baby. You know you'll just grow the fucking things back."

"IDIOT." The Master Chief smacked him upside the head, suddenly yelling again. "YOU SUCK COCKROACH BALLS AT TRASH TALKING. YOU HAVE TO MAKE A WITTY PUN OR PLAY ON WORDS, FISH PROLAPSE!"

Darren flinched. "Argh! Okay!" In the background Kit Fisto finished cutting up the potatoes and tossed them in the fryer. Darren thought for a moment, suppressing panic.

"Uh…uh…" he smirked down at Oz "I guess you just couldn't _cut it_."

"That's a terrible one liner," said the Master Chief. He grabbed Darren by two of his mandibles.

"HRMPH!" Darren struggled to dislodge the blood caked gauntlet from his mouth. A slug of blood dripped down his throat and he gagged, wrenching at the steel fingers with all his might. He tried to kick out but the Master Chief just pulled him onto his tip toes by his jaw. "Waight! Waight! Ibbth goth another onh!"

"Oh?" the Master Chief cocked his head. "Let's hear it, Dar-O."

"Okhay! Okhay…_Ifh herd off downh shizing, buth thish ish ridiculoshh."_

The Master Chief burst out laughing. "Ha! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! That's pretty good, Darren! Nice!"

Darren stopped struggling. He looked at the Master Chief.

"Yourh shtill going to mootilhate me, aren't yooh?"

"Yes."

There was a loud popping, snapping sound, and two of Darren's mandibles broke off at the joint in a spray of purple blood. He crumbled to the ground clutching at his bleeding face, trying to stem the purple tide.

The Master Chief turned from this erotic sight to see Kit Fisto holding a fast-food tray with a burger and fries on it. She was breathing heavily and had baleful look to her, but she extended the tray to him.

"There." She took a deep breath. "I did it. I did it all. I made your shitty cafeteria food."

"Wonderful. I'll be crapping greasy tar in no time!" The Master Chief took the tray from her and considered it. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised that it was the woman who was the best at kitchen work, huh?" Kit Fisto stared at him, stone cold, ignoring the bleeding, crying people on the floor. The Master Chief continued happily. "Of course, I'm still going to have to pay you ninety nine percent less than what men are paid, as is the custom." He flipped the burger bun open. "Oh wow, what a surprise, you forget toppings. _Just like a woman_ to forget the _toppings_." He poked the French fries. "And what are these. Unsalted? No ketchup—not surprising, I always knew you were a cheap bitch. Geez, my mom used to make better French fries and I never even knew the bitch." He sighed and dumped the tray over on the floor, letting it mix with the fresh blood spurting across it. "I guess you'll have to start over from scratch, huh?"

Fisto crossed her arms. "You're just deciding which of my body parts to rip off, aren't you?"

"I know, right!" exclaimed the Master Chief excitedly. "I just can't decide; you're flat like an eight year old boy, so I can't rip your tits off. Then I thought I'd cut your dick off but I remembered you were just _disguised _as a black man, so your hermaphroditic pseudo penis probably isn't big enough to bother you if it's gone." He tittered. "You know, I think I'll just kill you right now."

She stood her ground. "You don't scare me, Cercil."

"You know you remind me of another strong female soldier I know. She also calls me names I don't like—I keep telling people not to call me those names. Let me tell you Kit Fisto," the Master Chief pulled out his pistol again and casually raised it to press against her head. "There are four things I just can't stand being called."

"Let me guess," said Fisto. "Hannibal Lector knock off, Joker expy, evil!sue, and one note?"

"Ha ha. You're funny." He clicked the safety off. Fisto closed her eyes. "No. There are only four names I can't stand; John. Cercil. Chief. And—"

"And Reclaimer?" asked a maniacally cheerful computerized voice from behind him.

(dramatic cliffhanger)


	23. Chapter the Final Chapter Part One

**Chapter the Final Chapter**

_The Extremely Satisfying Climax that Resolves all Conflicts in an Adequate Manner_

_or_

_Mass Effect 3_

"I'd like to forget to sustain her running joke, if you know what I mean."- Ridley the Violator.

"_So…" _The Master Chief turned from Kit Fisto to face the construct. "My old nemesis, Pee for Free Guilty Shart."

Spark\ giggled. "I see that the quality of your trash talk has not increased since our last meeting." A silver trickle of Sentinel robots entered the kitchen, gradually filling the entire room, and the rest of the cafeteria, with robot sex slaves. A vague pall of smoke was beginning to manifest itself, for in truth Kit Fisto had overcooked the hamburger quite badly. Just like a

WOMAN

"You might be surprised; I've gone through a few changes since then…How did you find me?"

"Quite simply, Reclaimer; I examined the plans to this ship, and knowing that you would no doubt be heading to the bridge to activate its self destruct sequence, I took the fastest route there to cut you off."

The Master Chief was slightly taken aback. "The fastest way to the bridge is through the cafeteria? I didn't know."

Darren swore loudly from the ground. "WHY IS EVERY SHIP DESIGNED IN THE STUPIDEST WAY POSSIBLE!"

The Master Chief turned and shot Darren, who barely dodged in time. He and Fisto took that opportunity to run like motherfuckers. Oz stumbled after them, clutching his bleeding stump wounds and weeping, leaving an orange juice colored trail as the door shut behind them.

The Master Chief laughed. "Don't worry guys! I'll kill you all later!" He thumbed over his shoulder and looked conspiratorially at Spark. "Kids these days. Just waiting to be murdered."

"Much like the galaxy," said Spark. "And you."

"I drink the flesh of the living and the dead," agreed the Master Chief. He sighed, eying Spark and the sentinels with the demeanor of an enormous, sadistic, undead tiger sizing up its prey. Spark hovered there, confident and oblivious to what was standing in front of him.

"Before I kill you, blood boil, I suppose it would be fair to ask you one last time to hand the construct and the index back over to me, so that I can activate Halo and remove the human obstruction."

"Hmm." The Master Chief considered this. "Kill every single being in the universe all at once? Quite the money shot. I like the way the Foreskinners think."

The sentinels fluttered metallically amongst themselves, even their primitive robo-slut brains able to detect that something was wrong. Still oblivious, Spark bounced up and down happily. "I'm so glad you're finally seeing reason, Reclaimer. Removing your head would have been such a chore, after all."

"Unfortunately," continued the Master Chief over him, "there're a few little pitfalls to your plan."

"Like what?"

He raised one finger. "Well, for one, I destroyed Cortana, and so the index."

Spark went dead quite.

"And two." He extended another finger. "I'm going to kill you."

The Master Chief punched Spark in the eye with both fingers. Spark's single blue oculus shattered, blinding him instantly. The SPARTAN tore his fist free, scattering alien glass and circuitry. Spark screamed a high pitched whine that would have cracked all the windows in the room, if spaceships had windows—but that would just be stupid, wouldn't it? Anyways, the Master Chief blinded him and then dragged him by his guts towards the fryers as he screamed.

"My eye! This is outrageous, unacceptable! Destroy him my robo sluts!"

The swarm of Sentinels all turned their lasers on the Master Chief, who tossed a grenade over his shoulder and blew them all to hell.

"FUCK!" Spark's anti-gravity field went crazy, trying to shake the Master Chief off him.

"You might as well give up," said the SPARTAN, slamming Spark into the wall once, twice, and then smashing the diminutive robot over his knee.

"Never!" said Spark groggily. "We must complete the containment procedure. It can be done even without the index—I have had eons to prepare! It must be done!

The Master Chief lifted him above the fryer and its boiling grease. "Well okay. But first I'm going to torture you."

343 Guilty Spark only had time to scream before he was thrust deep into the bubbling fryer. The hot boiling greased invaded his circuits, causing his resilient hardware to spark and buzz and release plume after plume of smoke, filling the kitchen.

"Fire," hummed the Master Chief. "I'll teach you to burn." He lifted Spark out.

"AIEEEE!" the robot screamed. "It burns! It buuurns!"

The Master Chief laughed. "You're gonna burn!" He slammed Spark back into the hellish grease.

"No! No—please! It hurts!" Spark's smashed countenance sizzled and smoked, blue forerunner energy dancing over artificial nerves and incomprehensibly advanced technology. He was not immune to pain.

"Fire!" The Master Chief began to dance, jumping back to push Spark back beneath the grease every time he tried to surface. "Fire! To destroy all you've done! All of it's going to burn! Fire! To end all you've become!"

"You cannot do this to me!" sputtered the Monitor as he was submerged once again in boiling agony. "I am a genius!"

The Master Chief reached in, grabbed Spark and tore him from the boiling embrace of American consumerist culture, spinning the squealing robot around the kitchen like a Scottish Highland Gamer swinging an enormous hammer. Hot grease trailed behind them. The Master Chief kicked open the fridge door and busted open an enormous carton of batter with one foot, then stuck Spark under the blast of cheap carbohydrate.

"I am the monitor of this installation! You cannot do this! You must not!" His words were drowned out by the batter sizzling over him, encasing him in a thick shell of breading.

"Bro, you need to mellow," said the Master Chief. He walked over to the enormous oven.

"What's going on!" screamed Spark. "Where are you taking me? Let me go! I am—"

The Master Chief shoved him into the piping hot oven and pressed him deep inside with one boot. "You just wait there, bro, and _bake a little bit_."

"What does that even mean! Where am I? _Why is it so hot!_" Sparks words turned into wordless cries of anguish as the Master Chief slammed the oven door shut and cranked the heat up.

He stood there in front of the oven as Spark began to bang around inside it, roaring in pain. "Ha! You should…um…" he paused. "Turn up the…heat? No, that's stupid, that doesn't make any sense. I'll just stick with the baking thing. Bye!"

He turned on his heel and left the kitchen, and then the cafeteria itself.

"Man, I have such a hard on right now." He stepped through the doorway.

"_Not for long_," said a voice by the door. He wheeled to see Corporal McKay standing there, pointing a shotgun at him, her green eyes blazing with hatred, her red hair hanging in greasy uncut locks about her face. She was smeared with dirt and blood from what must have been a dozen fights, and her armor was scorched and scratched all over.

"Yep, that'll do it." The Master Chief took a few steps back. "Good to see you again, Cunthunt McGay."

"That the best you can do?" McKay cocked the shotgun.

"What, you don't recognize me?" The Master Chief flexed his arms like Charles Atlas. Blood oozed from the joints of his armor. "Come on. It's your old Pal Master Chief."

"I recognize you, you piece of shit!" McKay stepped forwards, pressing the muzzle of the shotgun to his filth fogged visor. "Everything was going fine until you and that whore showed up!"

"Who, Mendoza?"

"SHUT UP!" she screamed maniacally. "It's your fault we're losing this war. You fucking inhuman ball sniffing blood hound freak—Silva was right about you."

"Silva the traitor? You hate post-humans, so you teamed up with aliens?"

"Shut up." She pressed the shotgun into his face. "You call yourself the hero of humanity, but you're another monster just like all the rest—like that Cercil pervert, like that abomination, Whitania , like _me_. The only difference between you and me is that I admit what I am, that I'm not trying to be anything other than what the world made me. You're hypocrites, all of you, defending your actions in the name of good but never giving a thought to the fact that deep down all you want is the same thing as what your enemies want, to exude your power, to express it, to rule and dominate others and control the world, the universe. Just look at you—you and the SPARTANS—how many _children_ died in the SPARTAN project? How many parents grieved? And for what? So we could prove that we're just as terrible, as merciless as the Covenant? It only takes a little to push us over the edge, to give us the license to become as monstrous as them. Well fuck you all, that's what I said, fuck everyone. I'm going to look after myself, not humans or the monsters they've created. And—"

The Master Chief's hand punched through Corporal McKay's chest in a spray of blood and bones, her still beating heart clutched in his red fingers. The shotgun dropped to the floor but she remained standing for a few moments, staring down confusedly at the enormous rupture in her abdomen. The Master Chief daintily tossed he severed heart all the way through the hole, like the whitest basketball player shooting the easiest hoop ever. It bounced against the back wall.

"Sorry babe. Didn't mean to _steal your heart_." He laughed as her dead body crumpled to the ground. "Rimshot! I could do this all day!"

"Not today you wont do this all day," said a voice behind him.

The Master Chief let out a sound that was positively orgasmic. "Oh thank _god,_ I was wondering when you were going to show up." He turned casually to face the figure at the far end of the dim, flickering hallway, wiping his hand on his leg as he turned.

She was standing there in the dull tan light, as pure and radiant as every, pristine in her white leather jump suit a lot like that hoe from Underworld but much less of a hoe, just a lot more realistic and not some sick male sex fantasy shit but an outfit that showed her confidence and power and emphasized her whip-cord like muscles she was wearing her body was covered in glowing white tattoos that stood out against her dusky white skin, glowing with magic and power

"Almost done?" asked the Master Chief.

"Just a minute," said Whitania.

-her appearance was but a mere facisilimlm facsilm facsimilie facsimile of her true power and beauty shining through and she also had a single angel wing protruding from her back and it was erected majestically and was spanned out like ten feet. M The one wing Angel theme from Final Fantasy beag n to ply.

"Okay," said the Master Chief. "Anyways, Whitania, what made you finally show that sexy little big soft strong face of yours?" He leaned up against the wall, watching her from behind his sick yellow visor. The lights of the hallway flickered from the ever increasing shaking of Halo.

The Marisoo's smile was like that of an ice sculpture. "Simple, my love. I was watching you. Seeing if you would give into temptation, betray my trust like men are wont to do."

He shrugged. "Not much of a test. Darren isn't even that hot."

Whitania pointed at the dead body behind him. "I was talking about the ginger hoe."

"Shit, you know I've got eyes only for you." The Master Chief suppressed a snicker. He strode towards her, opening his arms wide. "I mean, I can start an eye collection. Starting with you." Dangling entrails slipped off his shoulders and husked to the ground. "Give daddy some sugar."

Whitania raised her eyebrows. "Oh? You surprise me, mortal. I thought I would have to convince you to accept me again."

"Ah heh. Heh ha ah ha ha." The Master Chief continued to shuffle towards her, leaving a trail of sludge-like filth and blood behind him. As he walked down the corridor the lights behind him went out one by one, as if their charge had been stolen. Slugs of gore pattered from his armor and left a trail of black spots behind him. "Ah ha. Let's just say…I've got a new perspective on things."

"Oh?" said Whitania, cocking one sexay kawaii hip. "What change could your primitive stud mind possibly facilitate?"

At that moment the Master Chief whipped out the kitchen knife he had taken from the cafeteria. "AH HA! SECRET ATTACK!" He plunged the knife down towards Whitania's eye.

There was a flash of white and her foot connected with his solar plexus. The Master Chief was lifted off the ground by the force of a thousand fan girls and was sent crashing through the bulkhead, breaking through pipes and reinforcement alike in a puff of shredded metal and gas. His body blew a hole through the next bulkhead, and the next one after that, leaving a trail of punctured walls and twisted debris. At the last he shot out through a thick reinforced glass window and came crashing down into a small, square shaped room with a large pillar in the middle. He sprawled limply on the ground for a moment, dazed as strange colors and shapes flitted across his vision and his ears rang with hallucinated sounds.

"Fuck, what else is new?"

The Master Chief pushed himself to his feet and glared around the room, checking the size of the hole his body had made.

"Damn that bitch has got a boot on her." Some rusty neuron in his head sprung to life at that moment, and he recognized where he was.

"Well I'll be."

It was the Cryo Chamber where he had first been awoken, so many years, I mean, days ago.

"Fitting, isn't it?" said Whitania as she levitated through a gaping hole in the wall with her single flapping angel wing.

"I'll fit my fist in your mouth." The Master Chief reached for where he had holstered his pistol, but it was gone. The kitchen knife had been knocked out of his hand, so he glared about the darkened corners of the room for a weapon. His eyes were drawn back again to that old cryo chamber he had stepped out of so many years, I mean, days ago. Its whole front had been smashed by the first fight between Cercil and the Chief.

The Master Chief laughed. "Those two Jews couldn't punch a dick out of an elephants butt."

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that." Whitania was watching him with an amused smile. She began to circle him, taking long, languid steps. The Master Chief rotated in place to watch her, his eyes wandering with the idleness of the insane as his visor dripped thick ichor from its seams.

He giggled like a metal hyena. "So...going to hit me with your love ray, or what?"

"Hmmm." She put a finger to her perfect dark white lips. "Perhaps. I must say, this is a rather exciting proposition for a girl like me. Two men in one body. It's like having twice the attention, but none of the skank."

"I'm not two men," said the Master Chief.

She waved his words away as if they were so much simile on the metaphor. "I was going to simply take you as another cock for my inter-dimensional bi-sexual harem, Chief." She reached out, her fingers brushing gently over his armored bicep.

"I'm not the Chief." The Master Chief made a grab for her with avian hands and she slapped him. He reeled backwards, stunned by the force of her incredibly strong Barbie hand.

"But now that Cercil's joined you in that sweet little stupid head of yours, well…it gives me an idea." She cupped the chin of his helmet, tilting it every which way like a horse breeder inspecting a stallion. "I wonder…how many more of my man sluts could I fit into your head?

"_I'm not Cercil_."

She ignored him. "Imagine it—all the beefcake in the universe, all packed into the perfect bod."

"I swallow lives right down my throat," said the Master Chief.

She continued to ignore him. "At once sly and dull, dark and light, kind and harsh, dominant and submissive, vampire and werewolf, human and alien, bisexual and bisexual…all in one, perfect man. No longer would they call me a slut or a hoe." She drew herself up. Her hair flared out behind her head like a whirling white halo of perfect hair. "Instead of a skank you would have a Queen. ALL HOTTIES WOULD LOVE ME AND DESPAIR!"

The Master Chief backed away from her, dry washing his filth hatred hands and hunching his shoulders. "Sounds kind of weird. Do your other huge dicked stallions like Dick's Barbeque Burgers? Because I love dicks. I'm not sure I like this mind orgy idea."

Whitania threw back her head and laughed. "Oh, foolish man," she said, possibly not even hearing him anymore. "You don't have a choice."

"That's where you're wrong!"

It was Oreo, coming to save the day!

Again!

Oreo and her giant tits burst through the door. "We always have a choice," she said, striding into the room with a plasma rifle trained on Whitania. Mendoza and Sergeant Johnson flanked her, training sub machine guns on the Master Chief with looks of determination on their minority faces. Keyes wandered in behind them, trying to shut the door and grumbling about technology.

"Why don't they have one button for everything?" he grumbled. He was old.

Oreo talked over him. "LIKE I said—I mean, that is…" she trailed off, staring at the thing standing in front of her. "Oh my god…what happened to you, Chief?"

The Master Chief waved to her."Oh, hi Oreo. I told you not to call me that. You know I'm going to have to hurt you now—not that I wasn't going to already, but still, you know, sadism. What can you do."

Whitania laughed. "Foolish human skank! This poor creature doesn't even remember his own identity, and soon he'll exist only to serve me." She began to glow white, the room vibrating around them much like Whitania's Edward Cullen vibrator.

Oreo turned reluctantly away from the Master Chief. "Whitania, listen to me! We've got to destroy Halo—if we don't, Guilty Sparkwill wipe out all life as we know it."

The Master Chief looked at her curiously. "How did you know about that?"

"Fool." Whitania waved a hand, and in a flash of light Oreo's gun was torn from her fingers. "_I am not life as you know it_." She began to rise into the air. "I am beyond your comprehension. I am a goddess. I am perfection. I am…_marisoo_!" Anachronistic organ music began to play as a gothic choir sang One Winged Angel, a not very good song that for some reason is very popular. "And this man—" white hair whipping about her face, she pointed to the Master Chief, who cringed, "IS MINE!"

"That's where you're wrong!" said an all too familiar voice. Again!

The Master Chief's head snapped around and he stared at Oreo. "Cortana?"

"That's right," said the A.I.'s voice, coming from a small but audibly potent speaker on Oreo's helmet. "I'm alive! Before you could kill me I copied myself over the Covenant battle net and into the Truth and Reconciliation, and then got Oreo to download me onto a flash drive and plug me into her helmet."

"Wow," said Mendoza. "How'd you do that so fast?"

"I wouldn't have been able to transfer all the data so quickly if someone hadn't installed BitTorrent on all your helmets," said Cortana. "It seems someone's been downloading terabytes of gay porn."

Everyone looked at Mendoza.

"What?" He raised his over plucked, chocolate mole eyebrows. "Seriously bitches—you think _I _need porn?"

"Point," said Oreo.

"Then who was it, niggas?" asked Johnson to the room at large.

Keyes began to pace back and forth. "Someone in this room, surely." He pointed. "Cortana—can you pull up a record of who downloaded the gay porn?"

The Master Chief raised his hand. "Hey, fleshpots. Marisoo over there?" he pointed at Whitania, who was floating there in white light looking miffed. "Halo is exploding? Encroaching flood virus; fate of the universe? I'm going to murderer you all with my dick?"

Everyone gasped.

"Don't worry guys," said Cortana. "He doesn't have a dick. And more to the point, I can't trace the downloads because whoever had the gay porn somehow dispersed the data feed giga matrix subleasing super algorithm war games zip file into all the helmets, effectively 'covering their tracks,' if you will."

"Well, he could not have been me, because I am not good at using computers," said Sergeant Johnson. "My fingers. Are too black. For that white keyboard."

"Guys," said the Master Chief, raising his death hands and glaring around the room. "I have a dick, okay? _God_."

"Uh, hello?" Oreo put into the silence. "Important issues? Marisoo over there? Halo is exploding, the galaxy is doomed? The Chief is insane?"

"That's what I said!" exclaimed the Master Chief. He started towards her. "Oreo, come here, I need to eat your words—"

"Whoa!" Oreo jumped away like a young man on a dock narrowly escaping dolphin-humping. The others raised their guns, attention re-captured. Everyone gave the maniac a birth, except for Whitania, who was looking more and more annoyed that nobody was paying any attention to her whilst she gave _her _birth. Oops, spoilers.

"Come on Oreo, baby," cackled the Spartan, undulating serpent-like before them as Whitania glared jealously down "We've got so much to talk about. How've you been since the Chief fucked off and got raped in the brain by your secret admirer? How're anaconda ding-dong and the sloppy chocolate enchilada treating you?"

"Wha' de feck is en enchailayda," asked Johnson, sticking his lower lip out. "Is dat me?"

Oreo said: "That's a Texan accent, Johnson."

"He must be the burrito," began Mendoza softly. His blowjob lips curled sensually. "Because I've got a big pito."

Cortana groaned. "Oh, would you two shut the fuck up. We all know you downloaded the porn, Johnson."

"WE JUST BARELY GOT OUT IN TIME!" said Oreo loudly, addressing the Master Chief who was staring at Mendoza, his head cocking slowly to the side. "Cortana delayed the Truth and Reconciliation's detonation sequence so that we could escape. I never would have believed it—Cortana, helping us!"

"Maybe her code got corrupted by the transfer," said Mendoza. "Like semen becoming santorum when it enters the—" In the background, Keyes choked on his drool and fell over.

Cortana groaned. "I was on the ship too. You think I'd want to risk getting ganked again!" Somehow, despite being only a voice, she managed to look accusingly at the Master Chief.

"THAT SHOULD HAVE WORKED!" he snarled, storming off in a random direction. "You SHOULD BE DEAD YOU PURPLE WHORE!" He slammed a fist into the wall, which molded around the blow like room temperature butter.

"ENOUGH OF THIS, MORTALS." It was Whitania! She had grounded herself and stopped glowing, then suddenly screamed in theatrical pain and doubled over, clutching her stomach. "Oh no! The pain!"

"Ignore her guys!" said Cortana. "She just wants attention."

Mendoza tittered. "What. A. Whore."

"Focus on me," insisted the A.I. "And listen, Master Chief. There's someone you need to meet. There's something I think it's time for you to know."

Oreo shook her head. "Yeah, Chief. I would have told you if I'd known, but—"

"Oh my god," interrupted the Master Chief, gaping at Oreo. "…Are you…my mother! NO WONDER I WANT TO FUCK YOU!"

"Aieee!" Whitania looked around covertly to see if anyone was watching. "My womanly pains!"

The Master Chief wheeled around and started towards her. "Oh my god honey are you all right? I have a tampon for you. Actually, it's my fist. I'm going to punch your vagina."

"Son…stop," said an old and world-weary voice.

He turned, murder fisting forgotten. "…Father?"

Keyes's crater-like face softened as he looked at the Master Chief. "No, John. But I've always considered you to be like a son to me, even now." He gestured at the Spartan's…current state of affairs. "And now that this has happened, well…let's just say I feel like I should have told you this earlier."

"What are you talking about?" asked the Master Chief as sappy violin music began to play. "I've never felt better!" He laughed nervously, backing away from Keyes.

Keyes hobbled after him "I know things must be pretty confusing right now. Hell, I know the feeling—I don't know where I am half the time."

"We're in the cargo hold."

"Yes, we are. Just like the day you were smuggled from your home over night in a crate of Florida oranges, then stuffed in the hold of my ship by Dr. Hazy."

"That wasn't me."

Keyes smiled sadly, again. "Yes, it was. Or at least…_one of you_."

"This would be really dramatic if he hadn't already explained it to us," said Mendoza.

The Master Chief reached out, grabbed a medal off of Keyes's uniform, and flicked it through Mendoza's left eye and out the back of his skull in a red ribbon of blood and chunky bone flakes. Mendoza's body crumpled dead to the ground, permanently dead forever never coming back mortality finite totally dead permanent character death.

"He'll be back," said Oreo.

Johnson exploded. **"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" **

Keyes rounded on him. "PIPE DOWN OVER THERE YA OLD FARM EQUIPMENT!"

Everyone stared.

"It's okay," said Oreo, raising her hands beseechingly. "He's…an asshole."

"Can we talk about my problems?" asked the Master Chief.

"Or mine?" asked Whitania, clutching her stomach.

"WAIT YOUR TURN." The deranged Spartan turned back to Keyes, who had just gotten through covering a huge snotty cough with his gross old person hands. "So da-de, you were saying?"

"Yes." Keyes snorted up a long strand of translucent geriatric secretions. "As I was saying…_one of you_."

"Oh, come on!" The Master Chief sighed. "First Cortana now you! Do you jizz boxes ever get tired of this multiple personality shit?"

"I never said—" began Cortana.

He waved a hand. "Not you. The other, maggot ridden, undead Cortana who lives in my head."

Oreo raised an eyebrow. "There's a difference?"

"At least I'm not half cow."

"Don't listen to the baby makers," said Keyes. "The only mouths we want them opening are the ones between their legs, am I right?" He winked.

"Can't disagree with you there," said the Master Chief.

Oreo made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. "Oh god. I hate all of you so much. So very, very much." She began to cry.

"That's why—he should be—" Whitania doubled over, cramping painfully. "With _me!_"

Everyone in the universe ignored her.

The Captain turned back to the Master Chief with a mournful twist to his leathery lips. "It's not us," he said gently. "I'm sorry, son. I wish I didn't have to say this—you're a good soldier, and a good misogynist. But it's _you_. It's always been _you_."

"When do we get to the killing?"

"Son…let me tell you a story." Keyes put a hand on his shoulder. Then he wiped his hand off and put it back on, but only because he realized that the filth would never come out of his skin anyways.

"A story about a young whippersnapper, full of thrift and verve, named John. His father was a businessman who hopped from continent to colony, closing deals and spreading his seed amongst hotel maids to ensure the propagation of his bloodline across all worlds." Keyes shed a single tear of respect." His mother toiled her life away in the kitchen making sandwiches and in the bedroom making babies, though none of John's siblings ever survived long in their house. Because he killed them. But this all-American family was struck with terrible tragedy: John was born with an enormous fist sized tumor in the center of his brain, creating a bizarre psychological separation between his left brain and his right brain. The right brain personality was a sociopathic man-child bent on amusing itself with anything it could find, even the lives of others; it could not even understand the idea of others having feelings. It was so insensate—so ungodly—that it did not even have a name, did not even understand the concept of a name." Keyes sighed. "The right brain personality, on the other hand, was called Cercil Saltstein. Instead of a sensible, logical, conservative and god-fearing Christian built to suppress his liberal scumbag right side, the left brain personality was a cold and calculating demon of pure negativity and hatred, a pure inversion; instead of wanting only pleasure for itself, it was driven to produce pain in others."

Mendoza checked his watch. His _gay _watch! "How long is this going to take? I have people to have sex with. I'm on a…_tight_ schedule."

Oreo hit him.

Keyes went on obliviously. "As for John, well, he only existed as the fusion of these two personalities through the tumor in his head. He was the foulest of them both. It was his murderous drive that made him strong enough to be considered for the Spartan program, you see. He was flash cloned and then abducted…by me, and Dr. Hazely. Dr. Hastly." Keyes paused. "Uh…whatever that broad's name was. The good doctor collected a bunch of other kids too, and they were trained at special facilities on Reach with lots of good old fashioned child abuse." He smiled warmly. "Just like my pa taught me. Eventually they became soldiers—top physical condition, top training. Finally they were outfitted with top-notch military augmentations that killed ninety percent of them. The survivors were equipped with prototypical Moldnerf armor. They fought valiantly against the Covenant but in the end John was the only one left, mostly because he'd killed all the others. He escaped in a cryo pod as Reach burned."

Keyes gestured to the busted pod. "This very. Cryo pod. In fact."

"And then something happened—I don't know what, but as near as I can tell the left and right brain personas somehow manifested in two different bodies. The first one was the Chief, who in his mind envisioned Cercil as the enemy—a Covenant Elite. Neither of you could be destroyed while the other lived. It must have been a tough fight, but it looks like neither of you won. Instead you re-merged, and John—the product of the combination of the two personas—reemerged as the dominant personality."

"Jesus Christ," said Cortana. "This is taking waaay too long."

Oreo hit her helmet. "Shut up."

"Wait-wait-wait-wai," said the Master Chief, crossing his arms belligerently as Keyes stood there, drooling before him. "Hold on. This makes no sense at all. There are more holes in your story than in vagina made of Swish cheese: just how, _exactly_, could there be three personalities if the left brain and the right brain were the Chief and Cercil? Where did the third personality come from? Where did John—I come from?"

"The huge cancerous tumor," said Keyes.

"Oh."

He paused.

"So, who's the real me—"

"The tumor," said Keyes. His dentures fell out. He slipped them back in. "Honestly I don't know how you're alive right now."

"I am cancer," said the Master Chief flatly, as everyone looked on in shock. "Well. That explains everything, I guess."

"Wait, that's _it_?" Oreo stormed up between them, shaking her head. "He was right—this doesn't explain _anything._" She began to count on her fingers, face burning with frustrated rage. "How did Cercil and the Chief get split? _Why _couldn't they die, really? How can someone be indestructible? WHERE DID CERCIL GET HIS MAGIC POWERS FROM? Where did Whitania come from?"

"Guys," gapsed Whitania, her zaftig bosom heaving. "I think I might be….prgenant."

They all rounded on her. "Shut up!"

Oreo continued. "Why did Major Silva betray the human race? How does Mendoza have sex with everyone in the universe all at once? Where did the Flood come from? Why does Commander Darren have a human name? How do you get shot with a hamburger? Why are Marines _so bad_ at throwing grenades, and _what the hell was that giant talking ant all about_?"

"Does it matter?" asked the Master Chief. He stood up, even though he had never sat down. "I mean...maybe all that matters is that I'm finally…" he looked up at the dead electric lights in the ceiling. "Free."

"Chief?" Oreo looked over at him. Everyone else looked at each other. You looked at the page. I looked at my dog. My dog looked at me. We looked at each other.

"I'm not the Chief. I never was. That was some name everyone else kept calling me. Nobody even knew what it meant." He shuffled over to Oreo and the other humans. Keyes watched him go with glass eyes, then began to walk into a wall like a broken robot. He had used his old dusty brains up enough that day. Everyone else recoiled slightly from the approaching Spartan.

The Master Chief spread his arms wide. "Now that I know where I came from—"

"Cancer?" put in Cortana.

He stopped, fists clenched.

"Cortana?" began Oreo.

"What?"

"Please be quiet."

The Master Chief took a deep breath and continued. "Now that I know where I came from—"

"I WANT YOU TO COME IN MEEEEE!" screamed Whitania from over by the pods, clutching her stomach and craning her neck back to the ceiling.

"Me too," said Mendoza.

The Master Chief threw his hand out as if he was swatting a fly. The back of his gauntlet caught Mendoza on the chin, spinning his head around like a top with a popping, metallic crackle. Mendoza's shocked face eventually stopped spinning, staring the opposite direction from the rest of his body. He fell over backwards.

"I KNEW HE WAS FAKIN'!" roared Sergeant Johnson, pulling out his sub machine gun and aiming it at the Master Chief.

Oreo stepped in the way.

"Wait Johnson! He's actually killed Mendoza less times than he did when he was normal, so that doesn't prove anything."

"Hurm." Johsnon lowered the sub machine gun. "…true dat."

"Yeah, she's got a point," said Mendoza.

"That's happening faster and faster," commented Cortana.

"As I was saying," began the Master Chief again, but he was interrupted when Commander Darren and his entourage burst into the room.

"ALL RIGHT HUMANS!" screamed the gold Elite, brandishing two plasma rifles, "TIME TO—oh my god never mind." He took one look at the Master Chief and fled. His posse followed suit and in the next minute they were long gone.

"Ahem!" the Master Chief raised his hand. "Heel face turn going on here?"

"Oh right." Oreo looked at him with big eyes. "Go ahead, Chief."

He patted her on the cheek, leaving a black-hand print. "Thanks babe. Well, as I was saying, now that that we've all heard the shocking revelation of my incredibly interesting and logical back story" he sidled over to Johnson as Oreo watched him with tears of joy in her eyes "I can pretend to be cured so that I can get closer, take Johnson's gat" he slapped Johnson in the face so hard that the Sergeant went down on all fours, signature green cap flying through the air as he spat large white teeth onto the ground "and murder all of you," finished the Master Chief, picking up the sub machine gun and casually aiming it over his shoulder.

Then he shot Captain Keyes twenty times in the stomach.

The sound of a huge bag of pebbles being shaken about and then set gently on the ground rang throughout the cryo bay, just as the bullet casings cascaded about the Master Chief's gore caked boots. Keyes's glassy white eyes for one moment gained clarity as blood overflowed from his mouth, even though no amount of bullet wounds in the gut can cause you to cough up blood. The faded knees of his command grays bumped lamely into the deck as he crumpled like a crushed flower; a flower crushed and springing up from the imprint of the boot, only to fall bent and crushed again. His bloodless lips parted, whispering softly, and a single tear fell from his eye.

"…_Rosebud…_"

The Master Chief shot Keyes in the face and his head exploded. "POW!" The body slumped down. He turned around. Mendoza was kneeling by an incapacitated Johnson, and Oreo was standing there in shock, mouth gaping. "Hey guys. I just killed my father."

"No!" It was Cortana. "Without the Captain's neural implant we won't be able to activate the Pillar of Autumn's self destruct sequence! Game over, man!"

The Master Chief lifted the gun and pointed it at Oreo. "I think the death of the cosmos is the least of your worries right now. You purple…lightshow. Vagina."

"COME WITH ME MY LOVE!" screeched Whitania from across the room like a fucking banshee, stretching her hands out before her. "YOU CAN BE IMMORTAL IN MY HAREM. WHY WON'T ANYONE LOOK AT ME!"

No one noticed. Oreo covered her face in her hands. "I thought I could help you. I thought I could save you from yourself." She sniffed.

He cocked his head to the side. "You're sorry? You're the one who's going to die. Well, we're all going to die. But you know how it is. Genocide."

"Here we go again," sighed Mendoza. "You guys are more dramatic than my soaps!"

The Master Chief shot him in the head and Mendoza's brains splattered all over the wall.

"Like I was saying," said Oreo. "You have no idea how much you annoy me, Chief. But more than that…I feel sorry for you: trapped in that _thing, _hurting everyone else forever." Oreo lowered her hands to reveal tears streaming down her face. "No matter what, Chief, you deserve more. I'd like to think that we all do. Even Johnson—"

"Ya racist!"

"And Mendoza, and Cortana—they're better than you, Chief. And for the hero of humanity, that's just sad."

"You are so dramatic," said the Master Chief. "And you're crying a lot. Are you menstruating?"

Oreo's face went red. "At least I'm taking this seriously. We're all going to die, and all you want to do is insult me."

He stepped closer to her, pressing the muzzle of the smg to her forehead. "Listen Whoreo, let me tell _you_ a story: I know you're trying to pull some sort of last minute 'power of love' super conversion Final Fantasy ending to this douchedebacle, but it ain't gonna happen. I don't know what sort of fruity co-dependant fuck sucking you were 69ing with 'the Chief,' but friendship is magic doesn't cut it for me." Their faces pressed together—the Master Chief's golden visor sweating blood.

Oreo stared right back. "Nothing can save us Chief? Not even…Dicks? _Dicks Barbeque Burgers?_"

"There's no hope, Oreo. Not even for dicks." The Chief pressed the gun against her forehead, the muzzle screwing into a pale flesh.

"No hope," he said. "No hope."

"Nigga," said a voice behind him. "I…BELIEVE!"

Sgt. Sergeant Johnson had lost a few teeth from the blow to the face; now his two front teeth stood out, bucktoothed and huge. Bright red blood from a split lip and covered his mouth, giving him large, red, swollen lips. His cap had been knocked off—now his enormous afro of hair erupted from his dark black scalp. His skin shone with coconut oil.

"Wow," said the Master Chief. "I feel extremely uncomfortable right now." He pulled the trigger and turned around. The gun clicked empty, and Oreo swooned in surprise, her massive tits heaving and almost throwing her off balance ha ha ha women.

"Uh, oops." The Master Chief fumbled at his belt for a clip to reload his smg. Johnson had some. The Master Chief reached out. "Hey, spade, can I have some of your ammo?"

Johnson swatted his hand away with surprising strength. "There be only one way to settle this, nigs," grated the black man. And then he tore his uniform off, revealing an incredible ripped chocolate body, fully nude except for wooly black long underwear that accentuated the biggest banana hammock ever seen.

Oreo face palmed. "Johnson…what the hell…"

"I'm gay and horny," added Mendoza.

"I don't even need men," said Cortana.

"You jelly?" asked the Master Chief, glancing over at her.

"Niiiigaaaaaaaah!" A very black light shone around Sergeant Johnson. He began to rise into the air, his pimp hand glowing with ethnic power.

"Whoa." Mendoza's face shone with the light of civil rights, and other racial and societal issues. "It's…beautiful…"

The Master Chief screamed in rage and this display of diversity. His body erupted into sickly green fire and he too rose high, high into the rafters of the cryo chamber. The green light mixed with the black to bath the room in a dark green hue. Those on the ground watched in awe, then slumped to cover their ears as a humming filled the world. The power of racism and general prejudice were being drawn on by both combatants; each for his own ends, but producing good for one and evil for the other.

What I'm saying is that racism is like the force. It flows through all things.

Actually, I don't really know what I'm saying. This isn't South Park, okay?

Oreo fell to her knees, mouth hanging open. "…What the fuck."

Anyways, the smell of cordite filled the air as black and white lightening (also known as mulatto lightening) sprang from the bodies of the two men and struck the world around them. Whitania conjured her personal force field to protect herself and the precious life within her womb, while Oreo dove for cover. Mendoza was instantly incinerated.

When the Master Chief spoke his voice was a booming roar that shook the world. "HOW IRONIC THAT THIS FINAL BATTLE WOULD BE BETWEEN ME AND YOU HOW IRONIC THAT IT WILL END AS IT WAS ALWAYS DESTINED TO END HOW IRONIC, SERGEANT SGT. JOHNSON, THAT IT SHALL BE I AGAINST YOU AND YOU AGAINST ME BLACK VERSUS WHITE AS IT WAS ALWAYS MEANT TO BE HOW EYE RONIC!"

Johnson bared his teeth, large nostrils flaring. "I will put an end to you _!" _He pulled his hand back, an enormous ball of energy shaped like a black fist materializing around his hand.

"FOOL! I am not for die!" the Master Chief placed his hands by his crotch. An orb of green energy grew there. It was AIDS, it was Ebola, it was whiplash and SID, it was broken bones and shattered dreams, it was religious intolerance and ethnic purity, it was despair and black holes and the nightmares of small children ages one through five. "Sppppaaartawwwnn—" he threw his hands out "PAUNCH"

Johnson dodged the blast and spun, then flew through the air, trailing racial sensitivity behind him. He brought his fist to bear in a straight trajectory for the Master Chief's face. "RAP BATTLE BLAAAAST!"

** "NO!"**


	24. Chapter the Final Chapter Part Two

The Chief woke up.

He was in a strange place, a place no white man had ever been before—a basketball court. Okay, I lied: white men built it.

He was standing in the middle of a huge makeshift stage as a grimy beat began to play and hundreds of small children cheered from the audience. He peered back at them, seeing faces he recognized: young Spartans Tim, Tom, Toby, and even Todd. In other faces he recognized the features of those Spartan girls known as Mary, Linda, and Grace Jones. He turned and saw continual montages of phat booty being displayed on large TV screens behind him. A voice rang out in the auditorium.

"INTRODUCING EMMMM CEEEE 'the Chief' for the BATTLE of the CENTURY!"

The Chief shook himself. "Battle? What the fuck? This looks like my old middle school basket balls court. Not that I've ever been there."

A voice came from behind him. "I always knew that I would finish this way." It was Cercil Saltstein, looking out over the pre-pubescent crowd with a wistful expression. He looked somewhat fresher and less mutated than before; the necrotic flesh and clumsy prosthetics were gone, as were his horns and wings. He was also naked. This pushed his appearance back into the negative numbers all by itself.

The Chief widened his stance, only to feel the dry caress of high school gymnasium air upon his bare loins. He was naked, but replied to his nemesis fearlessly. "What, that it would end in one final battle against me?"

"No, with a bunch of dead children."

"What?" Chief snapped his fingers in understanding. "Ah. Fuck you."

"I couldn't have put it better myself." Cercil pointed downwards, and the Chief gasped at seeing the reason they lacked their clothing: something long, black, and cylindrical had grown between them, joining their groins with inseparable rubbery flesh that pulsed and twitched malevolently.

"My end is bigger," said Cercil. At that moment a red slit opened in the center of the black tumor's length. It was an eye, bloody and baleful.

"GAH!" the Chief backed up and the cock-tumor stretched but did not break. The eye swiveled towards him, reptilian pupil widening in some unfathomable emotion. It was like the Eye of Sauron but attached to a different kind of tower of you know what I mean.

DICKSDICKSDICKSDICKS

The Chief squared his legs and crossed his arms, facing off against his nude opposite number. "So, have you been controlling me with Mendoza's HIV penis this whole time?" he bellowed.

Cercil's leered. "Perish the frot. No, Chief, that tumor is probably the Master Chief-like Keyes said, before you killed him."

"Hey!" the Chief puffed his chest out. "I didn't kill…my _father_!" he began to weep.

"Yeah, okay Oedipus. All that's left for you to do now is get Cortana pregnant and then gouge out your own eyes, and the tragedy will be complete. She was based on Dr. Hazel, you know."

"It's Dr. Hastlen," corrected the Chief. He narrowed his eyes. "So, you knew about this? You were already in cahoots with this _thing._" he pointed at their dick. The eye swiveled towards Cercil.

The fake Elite's lip curled. "I see you're as palsy as ever, Chief. If I'd known about Nightmare here do you think I would have _wanted _to bust him out? I might as well have been born yesterday for all I knew about _The Halocist_ _of the Chief _from the mind of Eli Roth. And besides, I like having a body. Even if it is some sort of leathery half dog half squid half shark dinosaur hybrid. Thanks for thinking an alien body up, by the way. You couldn't have gone with Fabio or James Marsters, no, it had to be the bastard love child of squid ward and E.T.'s fursona."

The Chief waved this away. "You think I _wanted you around? _Nobody wants you around, man, you smell like pickles!"

The crowd suddenly threw their arms up in a veritable wave and shouted. "OOOOH!"

"LOOKS LIKE SOMEONE JUST GOT SERVED!" screamed an echoing voice from the loud speakers on the sides of the stage. The funky beat began to pick up.

Cercil held up a hand. "Hold on there Fitty, did you feel that? The penis tumor went… soft."

The Chief cocked his helmet, which he was still wearing despite being naked. "I must be going flaccid from looking at you."

"Again—insult me more!" Cercil began tugging on the cancerous growth, trying to remove it.

Probably.

"Um…" The Chief cleared his throat. "You all right? What're…what're you doing."

Cercil began to sweat. "It's getting strong again." The eye seemed to laugh, quivering in a depression of blood. "Listen to me, fuckplug—I think there's a way we can both be free: if we differentiate ourselves enough, our 'John' here won't be able to link us together anymore." He clenched his fist. "We can be free again, brother."

"Brother?" said the Chief disbelievingly.

Cercil went on. "We can go back to the way it was before, with me attacking you at the worst possible times and ruining everything. Don't you want to go back, Queef?"

The Chief faltered. "You told me yourself how similar we were. I don't know if we can ever be free."

The huge cock grew harder, pulling them closer. Cercil's foot touched the Chief's and their skin began to merge.

"Gah! Shut up!" Cercil began to wring his hands. "I won't go back into the darkness with you. I won't! I mean, evil is one thing but HOLY SHIT that was some emo-faggotry." He looked up. "Chief, listen, I was just kidding when I said that we were the same, okay?"

"Even if you don't believe we're the same…I know it's true." The Chief tried to fall to his knees dejectedly, but the tumor prevented him, wrenching him back up as it drew them closer and closer.

"Ah heh…" Cercil put on a confident smile, but the fear showed through. "Come on, Chief…Even the most bitter truths can be denied out of existence by good enough insults. This is the internet after all."

"Internet? God damn it Cercil!" the Chief grabbed the Elite by the shoulders and started shaking him. "I never know what you're talking about! Speak American, damn it!" His hands fused into Cercil.

"Get off of me!" Cercil screamed. "No. No! NOOOO!"

"I leave you two alone and look what happens," said a voice. They turned as one to see a middle aged woman in glasses and graying hair standing a few feet away. Unfortunately she was not naked. She was wearing hot pants and an enormous white basket ball jersey with the number 117 on it.

"You're the voice from the speakers," said the Chief slowly.

"You sounded awfully manly," put in Cercil, eying her warily. "You're not from Transylvania, are you?"

"Menopause can do strange things to you," she said. "But let's talk about you boys." She turned to the Chief. "Look at you. I give you some advices three like any good missing parent and you go and impregnate a cosmic abomination."

The Chief gasped. "…Mother."

"And you." Their mother turned to Cercil, shaking her head wearily. "Making referential jokes to the _Rocky Horror Picture Show_ in a Halo fan fiction? Honestly."

Cercil hung his head in shame. "I'm sorry. It's just hard having to make an obscure and a minimally to extremely offensive joke every time I open my mouth."

The Chief squealed in surprise. "He's done much worse than that talk constantly! This is all his fault!"

"Don't you go blaming your brother for everything," said his mother, waving a finger. "Everyone must share his portion of the blame—including you, John."

The pulsating tumor cock gurgled and blinked its baleful red eye. The Chief and Cercil looked down at it in some surprise.

"Don't you 'whatever' me, young man," said their mother. "I know you've been stuffing shredded corpse flesh into toilets again! Do you _want_ a repeat of the punishment I gave you for killing all my other children?"

The tumor subsided grudgingly.

"Good." She took a deep breath. "Now, here's what we're going to do. John is going back into the stygian pit—no buts, mister!" She cleared her throat pointedly. "The Chief is going to go back to his friends. Especially that nice young lady Oreo." She slapped the Chief on the bum encouragingly.

"Fucking whore," said Cercil.

Their mother gave him a stern look. She frowned so hard that her nose popped off. "And you. You go back to that gentleman Commander Darren and those nice Covenant boys and girls."

"They incinerate colonies," said the Chief.

She rounded on him, half of her hair falling out and one of her eyes popping out. "Not another peep out of you young man!" A microphone was in her hand, and she pushed it into his chest. "Here, take this and use it to separate yourself from your brothers."

"What's that?" asked Cercil. "Some sort of representation of—"

"It's a microphone." She gave him one too. Her hand flopped to the floor. "Now yell at each other until your dick explodes."

They watched as their mother turned quickly and shuffled away. As she went, her skin began to fall off to reveal the insectile carapace of an enormous anthropomorphic ant.

Cercil raised his eyebrows. "Wow. Menopause really hits them hard, huh? I hope you're not planning to tie the knot on Oreo, because man…saggers are incoming, I guarantee."

Before the Chief could respond the announcer's voice came back on.

"AAWWWWRIGHT. Now that that little hiccup is over with, it's time for the rap battle of the century. MMMMM CCCCEEEeee CHIEF versus Cercil!"

The crowd erupted into cheers.

The Chief nearly jumped out of his skin. "Johnson's Rap Battle blast—that's what caused this! But I don't know how to rap! I'm not even black!"

"Never saw that joke coming." Cercil rolled his eyes. "Our souls are black like midnight coal, right? Same thing."

"But—"

Cercil bared his teeth. "Maybe if I can't destroy you physically or mentally I can destroy you verbally. Care to bet, faget?"

"Like you've ever gotten close enough to try," the Chief shot back automatically.

"LET THE RAP BATTLE COMMENCE!" came the voice.

The Chief took a deep breath. A bead of sweat travelled down the bridge of his nose and dripped off his lip to land against his mic and trail down its bulbous head. His lips parted, and for a single moment all was silent. Then the grizzly beat kick started and he commenced to rap.

"Bitches I'm fucking, Covenant I'm shootin

The only ass you tap is as dead as Rasputin

You hop around, jacked up on your camel toe feet

Every part of you is pussy pie waiting to get beat."

Cercil sneered. He jammed the microphone into his own mouth and let loose a snarl of feedback.

"Chief, you're rhymes are awkward

Just like the time I pimped your mom

You and your dad were watching

Couldn't get it up or get it on

It's true I eat dicks

And testicles too

`But that's only because the taste

reminds me of you."

"Dumbass," said the Chief. "We're the same fucking person." He leaned forwards.

"Mom jokes-that's original, it's what I'd expect from an OC

A one dimensional asshole whose got nothing on me

When I role on Mombassa in my gold plated hog

All the Covenant bitches hop on to ride my log

They tell me stories 'bout your tiny ass prick

Even Darren says it's the size of a tooth pick."

Cercil's lip curled.

"I'm hearing a lot of dick jokes coming from you

Cortana told me on msn-half an inch!-is it true?

If you wanna whip 'em out so bad to compare and show me

Why don't you skip a step, bend over, and just fucking blow me!"

He snapped his fingers in the Chief's face.

"Come on Chief, let's do it, let the ladies take note

We'll let Oreo choose between your raft and my boat.

By the way, when I said boat I mean my giant cock.

And by raft I meant your pork-key-you know, the one that's never opened a lock."

The crowd cheered. The Chief glanced from them and back to Cercil. Even now he felt their linkage beginning to weaken, becoming lax and flaccid. Cercil grinned triumphantly at him and the Chief straightened up.

"Keep on jawin' like that and I'll have to punch you

I'll knock Mendoza's shit stick out of your mouth if I have to

About the dicks-sorry faggot, not this time

I'm already regretting letting a retard try to rhyme

Let's move on to a subject more mete

How about your preference for under-aged meat?"

The crowd cheered, and the cancer shuddered. Cercil blinked rapidly.

"No problem Chief, I'll drop you the case file in a bit

Or are you too busy cheating on Cortana with your fax machine's clit?

Sorry-was that a secret? We all know you have a thing for computers, and getting hit.

You should remember to set her browser to private.

Take note all you luckless virgins out there

There's a man whose desperate enough to fuck the computer with animated hair."

The crowd let out an oooh. Cercil crossed his arms hip-hop style and jerked his chin at the Chief, who responded in a furious rush.

"That last one was weak

Just like your punches

Don't ask me how I know your jealous

I just have my hunches

But it doesn't take Holmes

to know you're a man that bones

Only the tighest

The hottest

Picks from the nursing homes."

Cercil snorted.

"Chief, you're a cunt with a brain the size of a whale's blow hole.

The rhymes you rap are shit just like the effluents of my asshole.

Don't talk to me about nutting on an elderly broad

Even McKay would find the amount of holographic carpet you munch a little odd.

Whitania penetrated your ass when you were tied down

And you and Mendoza have visited every gay bar in town."

Cercil flipped him the bird, and the Chief shuddered with rage only to let loose a veritable torrent of words.

"It's on you little bitch, you want to talk about gay?

You take man chowder up your ass every day!

You talk a lot of shit but we all know you're frontin!

We all know you're into ass-to-dick bumpin.

You knowledge of women's about as deep as a fanfiction

Do you even know which hole to stick it in?"

Cercil's eyes flashed.

"I've got a FAN FIC for you, Chief

Call it female/male

It's about me and Lieutenant Oreo

And the time we spent in the Truth and Reconciliation's jail."

A gasp went up from the crowd, followed by deathly silence.

"FUCK YOU!"

The Chief leapt at Cercil and grabbed him by throat, carrying them both off the stage with the force of his rage. The cancer's cock link twisted, clenched, and then shattered into a trillion pieces. The two naked men (well one semi-man and one Cercil) smashed through the floor of the concert hall and tumbled into a bright white void of sound and light.

It was a precious and touching memory.

He shanked the boy in the stomach and then pushed him off the hill. The child's corpse joined the corpses of the others he had slain to become the one called King of the Hill. He turned to see a man and a woman approaching. They were dressed in uniforms and looked sad. He did not know them.

"He's good," said the woman, her silver eyeglasses flashing. "He's perfect for the program. The Spartan program."

"Of which we are involved in," agreed the man. But he looked doubtful. "Look at that—age one minus one plus seven, and already a death machine. How do you expect to control that?"

She smiled. "Lots and lots of drugs."

The boy slid down the hill to them on his skate board, and did a few sick nasty tricks on the way. His baseball cap was turned backwards. "'Sup, old farts?" he asked rebelliously, squeezing a Gogurt into the side of his mouth.

"Did you win the game?" asked the woman. She knelt down to speak with him on eye level.

"I always win," he said. "It's easy when everyone else is dead."

"What's your name?" Her hand touched his shoulder.

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

He did not know his name.

LOL INCEPTID

**HAYLO: THE PARODY FROM HELL**

**Chapter the Final Chapter, Part Two of Part Two, That is, The Very Last One**

**Or**

**Breaking Halo**

_(Brought to you by EA Games!)_

The Chief opened his eyes for the first time in what seemed like a long time. In reality it had been only a few hours, though it felt way too fucking long—almost as if some lazy bastard had prolonged this shit far more than was ever necessary. Jesus Christ.

A woman's voice echoed in his ears. "Hurry it up, Cercil. We're almost to the bridge."

Another voice, the voice of Jack Nicholson, responded: "I know where we're going. You don't have to keep reminding me where we're going."

Something swatted the Chief's ass. He blinked, his vision starting to return.

"Stop that," said Oreo. "Don't touch him. You've done enough."

"I saw a spider. A butt spider."

The ground lurched past before him. He recognized the stained flooring of the Pillar of Autumn—but that was impossible: the last thing he remembered was facing off against Cercil in his old high school basketball court on a stage during a rap battle; there was no way he could have gotten all the way from Westburrow and back to Halo in such a short time.

"Looks like he's coming to," said Oreo.

"Can I come, too?" Cercil cackled.

"Do you want me to shoot you?"

"Oh Whoreo-sama, you're such a tsundre."

"Watch yourself. You don't have super powers or frozen penises to protect yourself this time."

Cercil's mocking sneer was apparent in his voice. "I'm still a man. You're just one woman, and two tits."

"Not for long," snarled Oreo.

"Fnally going for that breast reduction surgery?"

There was a clicking sound. Cercil laughed. "Make sure you fire that point blank—any more distance and you're trembling lady-aim would miss."

"Tough talk," said the voice of Cortana, "Coming from someone who can't fight for shit."

The Chief squeaked in pain at the call of his mistress and opened his eyes. He was being carried fireman style across someone's shoulders. Cortana's dominatrix-drawl had come from the speakers in his armor.

"Cortana?" he croaked, twisting around in surprise to see that Cercil was carrying him. "How did you get inside me?"

The Elite winked at him. "Your girlfriend slipped her all up in there while we marched. Hey o."

"He's awake!" cried Oreo, turning away from Cercil and the pistol she was pressing into the back of his head. She beamed. "Chief!"

The Chief stared back at her from his elevated position. "…Cookie?"

Oreo's face fell.

"Don't get your hopes up," said Cortana. "He could be even stupider now. Not that that's scientifically possible."

The Chief squirmed out of Cercil's hold and hit the corridor floor, then struggled to his feet. His bones creaked and he felt a thousand years (or four hundred pages) old. He dusted himself off, barely noticing the blood stains and streaks of gore all over his armor. His eyes caught a pair of boots in front of him and he followed them up to a pair of tits.

"Hey Cookie," he croaked, not noticing her subsequent sigh of relief. "Where's Johnson? And Mendoza? What happened while I was out?"

"You don't remember?" asked Oreo, reaching out to help him up. "You went nuts and killed Keyes."

"And then Johnson became Black Dynamite," said Cortana.

The Chief closed his eyes, brushing Oreo's hand away from his shoulder. A million horrific images flashed before him, the last and most terrible of all being the tragic, pointless, and shockingly belated death of his wrinkled military authority figure.

"But what happened after I came back? And why is Cercil here?"

Oreo gave Cercil a sidelong look. "There was a flash of light as soon as Johnson punched you, and then all of the sudden there were two of you—I mean, you and Cercil. I needed someone to carry you—no one else could, you weigh like a ton. Are you sure you're feeling all right?"

"I'm okay." The Chief breathed out slowly. "Can I borrow your gun?"

Oreo hesitated. She looked into the Chief's visor for a moment.

"Yes."

"DRAMA QUEEN!" declared Cortana.

The Chief ignored her and took the pistol. He turned to Cercil, flicking the safety off as he did so. Cercil's brows shot up and he backed away, bumping into the wall after a few steps. "I was the only one who could carry you," he offered. He grinned, but his eyes never left the gun. "Which is surprising, considering the massive throbbing torch Oreo is still holding for you."

"What was I saying before?" asked the Chief. Cercil opened his mouth to reply, and the Chief shot him in the face.

The crack echoed throughout the hallway in the instant before the bullet ploughed through Cercil's skull and exploded inside his brain, making his entire head erupt an instant later. The limp alien corpse crumpled to the ground, fingers clutching at the hole where its head had been.

The Chief holstered the pistol. "Oh yeah: fuck you."

"I almost feel bad for the guy." Oreo wiped some blood off her nose and sidestepped the body.

The Chief didn't look at her. He only had eyes for the growing pool of blood on the floor.

Oreo snapped her fingers behind him. "Chief, that Whitania…thing…disappeared again. I sent Johnson and Mendoza to the hangar to get a fighter started up; they're going to bring it around to the bridge so we can get off Halo after starting the self destruct sequence."

The Chief slid the clip out of the pistol to check how many bullets were left, turning away from the body as he did so. "I thought Keyes's neural implant was destroyed," he said, taking another moment of silence for the image of Keyes's wrinkled prune head exploding.

Oreo pulled out a smg and tried to keep up as the Chief limped off down the corridor. "It was-"

"No thanks to you," added Cortana.

"—but we checked the Captain's pockets and found a list of all his personal passwords, including the one to the Pillar's self destruct sequence."

The Chief paused. "That old bastard." He sniffed. "He always thought ahead."

"…Right. Or he just forgot all his passwords."

The Chief pretended he hadn't heard this grievous insult and they made off down the corridor, leaving Cercil's oozing body in a pool of his own purple blood.

They passed through the cafeteria on their way to the bridge.

"My god," said Oreo, staring around at the carnage. "What happened here, Chief?"

The Chief bent to pick up a half empty jar of mayo. "Our overweight American culture finally caught up with us? Not enough natural food, an excess of high fructose weaponized corn cobs?" He eyed a dead marine with twelve or so maple bars jammed down his throat, suffocating him. "They filled up on treats."

Oreo was standing by the kitchen. "I meant all these severed limbs littering the floor." She peered at the oven, which had a basketball sized hole in the front.

The Chief shrugged. "Downsizing? That economy, you know." He walked over to the door that had been sealed shut with acidic mustard, tossing the mayo up and down in his hand.

"What are you doing?" asked Oreo.

"Half the time I don't even know."

"Glad to have you back," said Cortana.

The Chief ignored her and started smearing great globs of mayo all over the seal of the door. He held out hand to Oreo. "Detonator?"

"I have this pickle." Oreo handed him a large dill spear pickle she had found on the counter. It was dry and had been left out for days.

The Chief sighed. "Don't be silly, this pickle is broken. There's no way it could be used as detonator for a mayonnaise bomb."

Oreo's eyes crossed. "What are we doing?"

The Chief groaned "I wish I hadn't killed Cercil—women ask so many god damn questions when men are trying to get things done."

She gave him a warning look. The Chief cleared his throat nervously. "Whoa. Hm. Where did that come from? Must have a little of that evil left over."

"I see Keyes lives on in his only son." Oreo pulled out a frag grenade. "I meant, why are we trying to blow a door open with fast food?" She indicated the grenade. "Besides, this is probably healthier for you than McDonalds."

The Chief laughed. "Pickles aren't fast food, dumbnuts. And that couldn't blow smoke up my ass much less blow the door down."

Oreo was about to respond with one of her classic, incredibly funny lines about wasting time and priorities and shit, when at that moment they heard loud footsteps coming from behind them. They turned to see a purple Elite stumble into the room.

"Hey lovebirds," said Cercil. "Sorry it took so long for me to catch up—I had to go to the supply closet to superglue the pieces of my skull back together."

Oreo turned to the Chief with a hollow look in her eyes. "We'll never find peace, will we?"

"Speak for yourself. I love killing him." The Chief lowered his pistol. "But now's not the time to waste bullets."

"We should take him back to a UNSC psychologist," said Cortana. "Maybe they could talk 'all-your-personal-issues-made-flesh' out of existence."

The Chief turned to Oreo. "Cookie, if he tries anything, just shoot him again—killing half my mind might work too. What have we got to lose?" he added bitterly.

"You're already pretty retarded," agreed Cortana.

"Hm." Oreo bit her lip, considering the Chief's instructions and fondling her SMG menacingly. "I suppose I could use something for target practice."

Cercil clasped his hands in front of him and swayed his hips back and forth like a school girl. "You little retards are so sweet. First comes banter, then comes miscarriage, then comes Whoreo in hearse's carriage."

The Chief clicked the safety off on his pistol and gave Cercil a cold stare. "I hope you haven't run out of superglue yet."

Oreo put her hand on the gun. "I can protect myself, Chief."

Cercil's eyes gleamed. "Just like when I captured and imprisoned you for days in a tiny cell."

"You didn't even capture me," said Oreo. "It was a Covenant soldier named Fisto." She looked pointedly at Cercil, and then at the Chief. "A _woman_."

The Chief shrugged. "I'm not saying that women are weak. Just that they're not very strong or capable of doing things."

"Hm." Oreo tapped her chin. "See, I don't actually have to respond to your point, because no matter what you say you will always be wrong."

"That doesn't seem fair," began the Chief.

"I'll start being fair when you do."

Cercil licked his lips happily as he watched them bicker."So what is mankind's greatest love story doing up here in frytopia, anyways?" He looked past them. "Oh, the bridge? You know, there's a ventilation shaft in the supply closet that leads to there, too."

"I'm going to beat the hell out of whoever designed this ship," said Oreo.

"Why not just give them a stern talking to and then have a nice cry?" muttered the Chief.

"It'll be pretty difficult to do either of those things," said Cortana before Oreo could retort. "Because I was the one who designed it."

Cercil clapped his hands over his mouth. "Uh oh. We'd better be careful in the ventilation shaft—there's probably a booby trap that will fire a twelve inch dildo up the Chief's ass."

"To pass through the vent," intoned Cortana, "you must become my ponyboy."

"Ha ha," the Chief laughed. He stopped. "You're not serious are you?"

Oreo glared at Cercil. "Who says you're coming with us? Maybe we _should_just leave you here to blow up along with Halo."

"Oh come on, it'll be fun. We always have such fun times."

The Chief's visor flashed. "You tried to _kill us all_."

"Only as much as you did," Cercil pointed out.

"I'm talking about _before_you tried to rape my mind. You tried to kill Cookie like five times."

"And you tortured me," said Oreo. "But it's okay; you sucked at it."

Cercil was unperturbed. "That's what I meant, Master Queef: it's not like you didn't almost accidentally murder everyone you know a few dozen times. Hell, you're better at it than I am!"

The Chief groaned. "Let's not have this conversation again."

"Fair enough." Cercil held out his hand cautiously. "So…partners? I mean, not the gay kind."

"Right, not the gay kind. For now." The Chief made to shake his hand, and then thought better of it. "Not that we'll be the gay kind later, that is."

Oreo put her hands to her temples to stop her head from exploding.

The Chief continued obliviously. "What I meant to say is until we get off this ring. We will be partners."

Cercil looked around shiftily. "Yes."

"Or until I launch you into deep space so I never have to see your face again," added the Chief.

The Elite raised a finger. "Fart propulsion. Your argument is invalid."

"There's nothing to eat in deep space," put in Oreo. "You wouldn't be able to get more than a few farts before you ran out of gas…um." She slowly looked down at her feet. "Why did I contribute to this…"

Cercil waved her away. "I would eat myself. Plenty of gas, see."

"Actually," said the Chief. "I was hoping you would explode or something like in those movies about spacemen."

"That doesn't happen," said Cercil. "You should know that; remember that time Todd the Spartan got a suit rupture?"

"Oh yeah. I think John cut his seals open before the mission."

"Yep. But don't worry, Chief…" Cercil spread his hands out in front of him and smirked. "SPARTANs don't die. _They just go missing in action_."

"Yeah. Right into the nearest sun."

Oreo watched the two 'men' with an uneasy feeling: it was not the fact that they were both, in their own way, complete fuck heads. What unnerved her was the ease with which they conversed, the sync that they fell into…as if they had known each other for a long, long time. She was not use to the Chief remembering people for longer than five seconds.

"We should go, Chief," she began. "Remember, Commander Darrren set the Truth and Reconciliation to self-destruct too. Who knows what will happen to Halo when it blows."

"She keeps on reminding people about things they already know," said Cercil to the Chief.

"I know," he agreed. "It's really annoying."

Cortana's cold voice spoke up. "IF you're both aware of how dire the situation is, then why are you standing around like two gay bears frotting their hairy dicks?"

Oreo's eyes bugged out. She was a very visual person.

"On the other hand," said the Chief hurriedly, "we should probably get going. Before we get raped."

**** "Is anyone else rock hard?" asked Cercil into the sudden silence.

_(The * actually stands for an anus, you know. Every time you see it I want you to imagine an anus.)_

The Chief and his two love interests back tracked to the supply closet. They parted through a forest of mops and interracial pregnancy pornography magazines. Eventually the Chief found a man sized steel tube that he could easily fit inside.

"Huh," said the Chief. "I wonder if Johnson's is as big as this one."

Oreo swatted the magazine out of his hand. "Please stop thinking about men's dicks, it makes me depressed. We found the ventilation shaft."

"I'd ventilate my shaft all over you, Whoreo," said Cercil.

"You're disgusting."

"I'm going in first," said the Chief tensely. "Oreo, remember to shoot Cercil between the legs if he bugs you. I'm not sure if he's got anything down there but it never hurts to check. With bullets."

Oreo cocked her SMG. "It'll be like putting down a re—a cripple horse."

Cercil snorted. "Ooo, harsh. The Dark Ages called, they want their lamest put downs back."

The Chief pried the covering off the vent and squeezed his way inside. The ventilation shaft was actually very large, large enough to accommodate two people standing side by side. This was about the perfect fit for the Chief's fat ass. Oreo squeezed her bust in after him and Cercil followed close behind. The Lieutenant began to regret this arrangement as Cercil's stale bagel breath tickled the back of her neck.

"I just hope we can come upon the bridge in time," said the Chief over his shoulder to Oreo.

"Why do you have to phrase it like that?" she asked. "Can't you just say 'get to' or 'arrived at?' Or anything else?"

"I'd make a joke about coming," said Cercil behind her, smacking his many lips. "But I don't think we've come to that yet."

"Oh my god," said Oreo, glaring over her shoulder. "Are you eating a _bagel!? _Where did you get that?"

"Thh kisshen," said Cercil, spraying crumbs everywhere. He swallows. In the present time, in the ventilation shaft, he also swallowed some bagel. "What? I like to snack, I have a high maintenance body. Fuck you. This bagel is great."

"Does he ever shut up, Chief?" asked Oreo.

Cortana gave a high pitched laugh. "He _is _the Chief. There's your answer, right?"

"It's too complex and sophisticated to explain," said the SPARTAN coldly, rapping his knuckles against the side of his helmet. "Besides…Oreo's spent more time around him than me."

Oreo stopped in her tracks. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh," snarled the Chief suddenly, turning away from her, "so you _didn't _get cozy with him up in the Truth and Reconciliation?"

"I'm detecting a huge spike in his brain," exclaimed Cortana. "Abnormal jealous man child waves incoming!"

Cercil blinked. "I thought I would have to slowly worm myself between you guys and destroy your relationship, but it looks like the Chief destroys everything he loves on his own!"

"Look," began Oreo patiently, holding up her hands with her usual manner of placation, "Cercil captured me. I was his _prisoner_. That means I couldn't _leave_."

The Chief stomped his foot. They had stopped in the middle of the corridor. "That's another thing! You're always treating me like some sort of big baby that needs his hand held all the time! Well guess what, missy! I pee standing up!"

"No he doesn't," said Cortana.

"SHUT UP!"

Oreo pointed at the Chief. "It's hard not to treat you like that when you act like a cu—" she winced, correcting herself "when you act like a jackass all the time."

"What was that?" the Chief cupped a hand to the side of his helmet. "What were you going to say? Maybe…CUCKOLD!?"

"Whoa who whoa guys, come on," said Cercil, stepping between them. "_I_ practice safe sex. No glove no love, man!"

Oreo straight arm punched him in the face without even looking at him. "Yes, that's exactly right Chief. You are a cuckold." Her voice dripped with sarcasm so heavily that it was a wonder drops of sarcasm didn't pelt Cercil's dazed body on the ground.

"SO IT DID HAPPEN!" The Chief pointed at her. "YOU BITCH! You've cheated on me with—with—with an alien! But even worse than that, with my brother! But even worse than that, with an asshole! But even worse than that, with Cercil!"

"HE SANG SHOW TUNES AT ME AND TRIED TO PUT A PANTY ON MY HEAD!" Oreo screamed.

"AAAUGH!" The Chief covered his ears. "YOU SICK BITCH! I can't believe you want to rub whatever revolting sex acts you performed in my face like that!"

"Oh—FUCK YOU CHIEF!"

"YOU WISH YOU WHORE! KEYES WAS RIGHT ABOUT YOOOOOU"

Cercil pushed himself back up the wall and regained his balance. The Chief and Oreo had stormed off without him. "Guys, wait up! She hasn't even told you about the time I hired a sweaty Colombian drug dealer to blow smoke in her face!" He chased after them, and a second later he stepped on a hidden pressure plate. An enormous steel dildo rocketed out of a compartment in the floor and smashed into his split chin. It flipped him back through the air to land in a heap. The steel rod spun through the air and bounced off his head.

"Oh, sorry!" Cortana called back. "I would have warned you, but I was hoping the Chief would step on it!

The bridge of the Pillar of Autumn. It is generally agreed upon in the scientific community that the bridge of the Pillar of Autumn had a dramatic amount of dirt and general debris in it. Simple measurements of 'a lot' and 'copious' are insufficient to gauge the sheer volume of dust that had collected in this hallowed chamber—not the least of which was ejected from the anus of Commander Keyes, wafting down through his captain's grays to sift out onto the floor, like Andy Duframe from the classic movie adaption of Steven King's novel _The Shawshank Redemption _trickling a stream of tunnel gravel and santorum out his pant leg. The carpeting of dead technicians that had littered the floor since Cortana's impromptu genocide (_SEE ISSUE ZERO "The Pillar of Autumn" – Ridley) _had long ago turned into a white and flakey film. Scraps of it drifted up through the shafts of light from Halo's sun, which cut through the maze-like banks of dimmed control panels occupying most of the room. The protective glass that had once separated the occupants from the void of space was long since gone. That was a metaphor for shit getting real.

In summary it was a great place for a dramatic climax or three.

Though it had only been a few days since the crash landing, the bridge appeared to have aged half a dozen years—almost as if it had taken near to that much time for the Chief to return. He and Oreo were still arguing even as they pushed an inconspicuous wall-sized grate aside and ducked into the bridge.

"God damn it Chief he's an alien! How sick do you think I am?"

The Chief sidled away from her. "Sometimes I wonder! Keyes said that some women have vaginas so big they can only have sex with horses or black men!"

"Keyes also believed that the Covenant were Vietnamese guerrilla war fighters! For God's sake, he was an idiot!"

The Chief pointed at her angrily. "That _idiot_ was the closest thing to a father and a mentor that I've ever had."

"THAT'S EXACTLY MY POINT!"

"Harrumph!" said the Chief. "Keyes was a worldly man. He knew all sorts of stuff, like how to tie knots, and how to infiltrate a bath house! And anyways—why would Cercil lie about you?"

Oreo breathed heavily through her nose."That's what he does. He just says whatever he thinks will annoy us, you should _know_ that."

"Oh yeah? Why don't we ask him!?" The Chief spun around. "Hey, Cercil, did you and Oreo—"

The purple Elite was nowhere to be seen. The Chief peered into the empty vent for a moment. "Huh."

Oreo scoffed. "What, so you trust him more than me? He's probably jacking it right now."

The Chief rounded on her. "At least he's _honest._"

"Here we go again," said Cortana.

Oreo ignored the A.I. "What's that supposed to mean?" she asked warily.

The Chief spread his arms wide, flapping them there in front of the vent as Oreo leaned away from him. "What it means is I'm gone for what, an hour or so, and suddenly you go all hard and mean! I get enough hardness from Cortana."

"Not nearly hardness as much as I'd like to give," said Cortana.

Oreo's face softened. "Chief, I…. I missed my medication. I take a lot of medication."

"With a dick," said Cortana.

The SPARTAN stared at her. "Huh. And here I thought you actually were a better person than me. You didn't even blink when I shot my own brother in the head. I have the blood of my _father_ on my hands and you haven't said a god damn word about it." He laughed, and for a moment it sounded like the laugh of the Master Chief. Not this Master Chief, mind you. The other Master Chief. "What does all that crap you said about friends and shit back in the cryo room mean, if you can't even spare me one god damn kind word."

Cortana laughed. "Oh God, I forgot what a needy bitch you are."

Oreo just stared down at her boots again.

"I met McKay, you know," said the Chief quietly, after a long pause. "I laughed at her. I killed her. But now I wonder if what she said wasn't more truer than what you saided."

Oreo frowned. "Wait, what?"

At that moment Cercil emerged from the vent looking dazed. He blinked wide eyed at the scene before him. "Whoa, temperature rose a couple of 1st degree burns in here."

"Ah," said Cortana into the awkward silence. "Here's Indiana Jones, fresh out of his latest adventure with the Dildo of Doom."

"Just let me take a drink from my canteen." Cercil reached down to an imaginary belt and produced his middle finger. "Oh my. Only a few drops left." He flicked it back and forth over his mouth. "My lips are so parched."

"Hey," said the Chief, "didn't Indiana Jones have a whip."

"You want me to get mine?" asked Cortana.

"Maybe." The Chief glanced at Oreo pointedly. "IT'S NOT LIKE ANYONE ELSE CARES ABOUT MY LIBIDO."

Cercil smirked at her. "He's so subtle, isn't he," he confided. "He's like the Gossip Girl."

Oreo poked him in the Elite with a finger. "This is your fault; you know how stu—how impressionable the Chief is! And if you ever lie about me again, even in the Chief's dreams, I _will_ end you. Do you understand?"

"Man, you talk about me even when I'm not here? I'm so flattered." Cercil smirked at her. "Do you really want another panty hose on your head that badly?"

Oreo leaned in closer. "I said, do you understand me?" Her eyes were like black ice.

"Yes," squeaked Cercil, as his balls slowly retreated into his esophagus.

"Good. Remember."

Cercil squeaked.

"YOU GUYS DONE MAKING OUT!?" bellowed the Chief, leaning back around a corner. Oreo jumped, not even aware that he had left. Cercil immediately put on a smirk.

"Oh Chief," he said, "not by a long—"

Oreo looked at him.

"Heeeeeey." Cercil slid sideways over to the Chief. "Heeeeey buddy how're you doin'." He sidled around behind the Chief and peeked out at Oreo. The Chief shrugged, gave Oreo one last jealous glare, and then ducked away behind a large group of consoles.

Oreo wiped dust out of her eyes and wished she was not out of medication.

Her boots kicked up little mushroom clouds of dirt as she followed the Chief's splayed footprints and Cercil's mincing tracks. The bridge was almost like a maze, and a vaguely familiar smell hung around it. Oreo turned a corner and walked on. Then another, and another.

"Huh." She sniffed. The air was getting thicker, damper. She wiped a thick line of moisturized dirt off a nearby console with her finger. "Where did all wetness come from in the middle of a desert?" she asked aloud.

The footprints turned a corner, and Oreo found herself facing another similar looking double row of consoles. She stopped. "That's odd. I've never been here before, but…I don't remember this area of the ship being so big in the schematics." The metal boxes loomed higher. It occurred to her that they were not like any consoles she had seen on a ship's bridge before. They looked vaguely familiar…

She realized that her footsteps were echoing, somehow, at the same time that she recalled what the smell permeating the air reminded her of; once, when she had lived in an all-female dormitory in Japan, she had stumbled upon an overflowing waste bin filled to the brim with used menstrual pads. That same smell lingered faintly in the air of the bridge…almost as if it had followed her, like angry vaginas stalking across the stars.

She stopped. The Chief's and Cercil's footprints had disappeared. As she watched, a low and sorrowful whistling rolled through the rows upon rows of computer consoles—it was the wind, sending up little twisters of dust that brushed away their tracks. Something caught the corner of Oreo's eye: s a small streak on an otherwise dirty computer screen. In fact, it was the one she had left.

She had been walking in circles.

The bridge had gone silent. Oreo looked up, only to see the corridor stretch on and on before her, lined with hundreds—no, thousands—of side passage ways, all formed from the rows upon rows of blocky grey and brown computer consoles that seemed to stretch up all the way to the faded orange haze of the ceiling. The very walls themselves now seemed to drip with moisture, coming from somewhere within.

Something was very, very wrong. Oreo started to call out for the Chief, but-

"I've waited a long time for this moment."

The cheap linoleum floor squeaked as Oreo wheeled around to come face to face with Whitania Drakensang.

"Now I have you all to myself," said the marisoo, her perfect soft hard supple rough lips mouth opening to reveal pearly white and perfect teeth. Oreo tried to scream, but she never got the chance because Whitania interrupted her. "Not in a lesbian way, though. Lesbians are gross."

They had been walking for what seemed like minutes, but was actually seconds.

"Gee," said Cercil, stretching his arms over his head as they trudged through yet another identical corridor of consoles. "_It sure is boring around—_"

"Shut the fuck up," spat the Chief, not even stopping his examination of their surroundings.

"Huh." Cercil lowered his arms sourly. "Fine. I'll just grab my stuff, then."

"I don't remember it being so big in here," said the Chief to Cortana. "Last time I practically stumbled into…" he sniffed "Keyes."

"Wow, he's really taking it hard isn't he?" said Cercil, letting go of his stuff.

Cortana agreed. "Can't blame him; life is so much easier when you don't have emotions."

"I know what you mean."

"Oh yeah." Cortana's voice dripped with sarcasm. "You and the Chief. Just masters of rationality."

"Hey, I'm not the one who got pregnant with Microsoft Excel," retorted Cercil.

"Oh no," said Cortana. "Your insults have totally distracted me from the fact that you're a attention seeking whor."

"Cut the cheese," said the Chief, straightening up from a console with a small clear streak on it.

"What?" said Cercil and Cortana together.

"The cheddar," said the Chief. He shook his head. "I mean, the chatter. God, does anyone else smell cheese?"

"Oh." Cercil wafted his hand through the air and looked innocently to the heavens. "That bagel I had might have been a cheese themed one, yes. On top of that there was mold on top of it."

Cortana made a noise of disgust. "I guess you were right the first time, Chief."

"And you ate that bagel anyway," the Chief mused over Cercil. "You fucking degenerate."

"Okay." Cercil looked over the Chief's shoulder. "Say, where's Largetenttits Whoreo?"

"Did you mean _Lieutenant _Whoreo?" asked Cortana.

Cercil sniffed. "Hey. I'm working on that one, okay?"

"Why don't you work on this." The Chief punched Cercil in the face. The Elite stumbled back into a row of consoles and accidentally put his bony ass through a computer screen, sending a blast of sparks up alien rectum.

"OH GOD WHY."

"Say Cortana," said the Chief as Cercil squealed and seized in agony and possibly electrocution. "He's right. I thought Oreo was just behind me."

"So now you care." Cortana hummed to herself. "I don't have access to the cameras. Maybe I can retrace our…say, that's odd."

"What is it?" asked the Chief as he casually grabbed Cercil by the chin.

"Wait!" Cercil shook his head. "Nonononononono-" The Chief smashed his face through another computer screen. Smoke and blood, along with shards of glass, erupted from the broken console.

Cortana sounded worried. "According to my calculations you've covered at least twice as much ground in the last few minutes as there even is on the bridge."

The Chief left Cercil's twitching body and walked on. "American, please." He gave his surroundings a suspicious glare.

"You mean English."

"Whatever."

"Fine. Simply put, you've taken more steps than there are to take in this room."

The Chief stopped. He peered down a side corridor of blocky consoles, then did a 180 and looked down the other corridor. "So I've been going in circles? I don't remember this room being so hard last time."

Cortana agreed. "Well, that time you probably just followed the smell of Keyes's ass. But that's not the half of it, Chief."

The Chief gagged. "Can't it be?"

"Thing is, you've been walking in a straight line this whole time."

"That's impossible!" cried Cercil, stumbling up beside the Chief. His face was covered in deep lacerations and burns. He was also waddling.

The Chief eyed him. "Look who's talking."

Cercil scowled. "If I still had satanic powers I would use slanderous words to tear a hole in the earth and punch you with lava."

"Just so," said Cortana. "But there's only one thing in the universe, besides racism, with the power to alter reality like this."

The Chief nodded with an air of seriousness. "I know. _Mendoza's ass_."

Cercil stopped and stared in the middle of picking chunks of glass out of his body.

Cortana was silent for a long time. "…no. I actually meant—"

"ME!" sang a crystalline voice as every single console's screen (except for the ones that had shot fire up Cercil's ass) suddenly turned on, displaying the radiantly ashen face of Whitania Drakensung against a black background. She was wearing-

"OH MY GOD!" ejaculated the Chief. "WHAT A SURPRISE!"

"Yes, my love," said Whitania un-fazedly. She preened her midnight raven hair with her silver claw fixture glove. "It was I who altered the reality of the bridge—you are no longer aboard the Pillar of Autumn, but instead _inside of me,_ of my reality." She was wearing—

"CHIEF DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS?" screamed Cortana.

The Chief clutched his ears in pain, but answered anyways. "NO I DON'T CORTANA WHAT DOES IT MEAN?"

"THAT WE ARE INSIDE HER VAGINA."

The Chief looked over at Cercil. The Elite was curiously wiping some of the built up moisture off the wall. He had sniffed it bemusedly and was about to taste it when they made eye contact. Cercil looked at his finger, then back at the Chief.

"Look at me!" Whitania was suddenly livid in a sexy way. "Don't listen to that bitch, Chief! Listen to me! Look into my perfect black and white eyes! Drink in my sorrowful soul!" Her face loomed from every screen, surrounding them with a wall of perfect tumescent flesh. "Love me!" **She was wearing-**

"GUYS DO WE HAVE ANY PURELL?" shouted Cercil over her. "ALSO, I NEED THIS GLASS REMOVED FROM MY ANUS. IT'S REALLY STARTING TO HURT!"

Whitania drew back, her lips contorted with rage. "Fine. If you're just going to cut me off, then I'm done with you. We'll see how well you do without me."

"You're a rapist," said the Chief.

Whitania ignored him. "Of course, that will leave me alone with that 'Oreo' slut who's all over you all the time." She smirked sexily, but not in a lesbian way. "Oh, the fun we'll have, Chief. Why, by the time I'm done with her she won't even remember if she's my best friend or my worst enemy. I wonder how long she'll last…"

The Chief's knuckles popped. "You sick bitch. You're worse than John."

"Oh?" Whitania tittered, eying him and Cercil like a slave master appraising young purchases. "That's right-I noticed that you and your brother broke up again. That's too bad. I liked it when you were…joined. You know what they say…_twincest is wincest."_

"Only if they're hot," said Cortana. "These guys, not so much."

"I take offense to that," said Cercil as he removed a large pane of glass from his butt.

Whitania licked her lips. "Hmmm. I'll give you a choice, Chief, Cercil: on the west side of the room is the master control console, where you can activate the Autumn's self destruct sequence and finally destroy this symbolically feminine Halo ring with your evil rape penis." Her eyes flashed white for a moment. "To the east is me, and your Oreo trick. Oh, and if you guys try to split up and do both" she shivered "-not as in satisfy all of a woman's needs and each other's bisexually, but as in try to save Oreo and blow Halo—well, I'll kill Oreo anyways."

"Ew," said Cercil. "That's icky."

Whitania smiled. "Let's see how much you boys _really_ care."

Then all the consoles shut off, leaving an eerie silence. Which Cercil broke with a hysterical laugh. He held his hands up in mock claws and grinned maniacally, turning to the Chief.

"Join me Chief, and you will fuck the greatest of Marisoos. Or else you will _die_."

Cortana groaned. "Kill Cercil again and let's get to that main console. This isn't about Oreo anymore, Chief—this is about the fate of the galaxy. We need to blow this Ring."

The Spartan was quiet.

"Right?" Cortana sounded nervous. "I mean, you guys are over, right? You had that big argument, and as much as it annoyed the hell out of me I'm glad that pathetic fling is finally over. Now we can focus on the important things. Right?"

The Chief looked at his fist.

"Right?"

The floor began to shake. It increased slowly in intensity until it became a terrible rattle that made Liutenant Oreo's teeth jump in her skull.

Then it stopped.

Her eyes opened. She was in some sort of rectangular room—above her was a strange orange mist, and the walls were made of the same large rectangular consoles that had turned the bridge into a death maze. They were not just any kind of generic console, though: they were servers. Internet database servers. Who knew what sort of evil was stored on them?

"Evil? Hardly."

Oreo looked up to see Whitania standing there serenely in a pure white latex jumpsuit like Kate Beckensale from Underworld but less sluttier and she had angel wings. And something else-something was different about the Marisoo, but Oreo couldn't put her finger on it.

Whitania misread the look on Oreo's face. "Confused? Frightened that I can read your mind?"

"You can read my mind?" asked Oreo.

"You wondered what was on the servers," said Whitania with the patience of someone explaining things to very stupid child.

That also reminded Oreo of something, but she couldn't put her finger on it either.

"And I read your thoughts," said Whitania "It's part of my innate telekinetic abilities."

"Which you didn't have last time you attacked us."

"Actually I did, so shut up." Whitania indicated the servers. "These are the servers of a popular internet fiction archive. They house millions of works, many of which contain my brothers and sisters. I brought them here because I thought they would all want to be present for this."

Oreo could barely follow the woman's ranting. "What's going on? What's going to happen?"

"Well…" Whitania rubbed the toe of her sexy high heeled boot across the sterile white floor. "First of fall, the Truth and Reconciliation's detonation—which you just felt—is going to set off a chain reaction, causing Halo to overheat and explode. How ironic that the Covenant would destroy their own holy ring." She tittered.

"Don't you work for the Covenant or something?"

Whitania slapped Oreo in the face. The Lieutenant went down, a red mark branding her cheek. She continued as if there had been no interruption. "I work for no one, slut. Of course we will be long gone by then, off to one of these very servers." She smiled down at Oreo. "By 'we' I mean me and my boyfriend, the man you tried to steal from me."

Oreo glared up at her. "You're a delusional bitch. "

"DELUSIONAL?" shrilled Whitania. "We'll see who's DELUSIONAL." She knelt down by Oreo. "You see, I told the Chief that to save you he would have to go west, and that to save the galaxy and destroy Halo he would have to go east."

Oreo laughed. "The Chief won't come here. Even if he did care about me, he knows the stakes. Cortana won't let him anyways." Her laugh was hollow. "I mean, he wouldn't be that stupid. Would he?" There was a faint note of hope in her voice, which shocked her more than anything else she had heard or seen all day.

"You want him to come." Whitania showed her teeth in a parody of a smile. "But you see, I lied. Where he thinks the master console is, is actually here. So that when he comes, and he will, I will have him." She reached down and touched Oreo's cheek. "And you'll know that he didn't come for you."

"The Chief can't come for anyone," said Oreo bravely. "He has no dick."

Whitania trailed a hand down her own stomach. "Oh. I don't know about that." She straightened up. "Of course, when he gets here he won't find what he wants." She sneered down at Oreo. "Except for me when I turn his brain into jelly."

Oreo pushed herself up by her shoulders and put on a brave face. "Your tricks won't work on us anymore! Hell, they don't even work on me!"

"That's where you're wrong," said Whitania. "For you see, Lieutenant Oreo, it is only you that my powers of mind control do not work on."

She gasped. "You mean…"

The Goddess threw back her head and laughed. "Yes. You _are a Marisoo_."

dundundundadundundadundun

"That's not true!" Oreo staggered to her feet and tried to run, only to have her back thump against one of the soggy consoles. She clung to it desperately. Then she backed away in disgust and wiped herself off, the smell of fangirl cum clinging to her clothes. She shook her head back and forth as Whitania approached. "That's impossible!"

Whitania cocked one kawaii hip. "Hardly. There are many kinds of Marisoos, Oreo _sama_."

"DON'T CALL ME THAT!" cried Oreo, pressing her fists to her ears. Her face shone with cold sweat. Her back hit another console and slid against it as she backed away.

"It is your Marisoo name!" cried Whitania. "You're _true_ name. You are a Purity-soo, developing at an early stage. Barely past that maggot form. You may evolve into a MessofBabies-soo one day, as indicated by those larges boobs."

Oreo clutched at her armored chest with a look of absolute horror on her face. "No…NO!"

Whitania chuckled. "Many have the potential to become Marisoos, but only at certain times. Take our boy toy for example—when he joins with his brother, he becomes the terrible 'Master Chief,' a powerful Evil-soo with the ability to turn reality to a state of grimdarkness. Not nearly as powerful as me, of course…" her wings spread dramatically behind her. Golden light shone through platinum feathers. "For I am the most powerful Marisoo of all. A Goddess-soo!"

Whitania extended her hand towards Oreo. A blade of pure light appeared, its tip resting against her throat. "But now that you know the truth, I will have to kill you." Her lip curled cruelly. "Can't have another girl running around as competition, can we?"

Oreo looked up at her with stone in her eyes. "Fine. Do it."

"Oh?" Whitania cocked her head.

Oreo stood up, facing the sword head on. "If you're right, I want to die. I'll never be like you. Kill me."

The Marisoo only gave one last hideously beatific smile. "You are well on your way already, child. Such a pity. You could have been so one dimensional."

Oreo closed her eyes and prepared for death for what she thought would be the last time, for the last time.

And then a console to Whitania's right flew out of the wall of its brethren and collided directly with her, carrying her across the room to be smashed flat against the opposite wall with a loud metallic clang.

The Chief followed his scorched green boot in through the opening he had made.

"CHIEF! You came!" exclaimed Oreo, rushing to him. She slowed half way to him, stopped, the excitement draining away as the Chief stood there.

"You…you didn't come for me," said Oreo, staring at him. The Chief stared right back, his golden visor inscrutable. "Did you?"

"Actually," said Cercil, slipping through the opening after the Chief, "we knew you'd be here; I guessed that Whitania had probably seen _The Dark Knight_, just like everyone else in the universe. So when she gave us two choices I knew she would switch them around."

"Oh." Oreo blinked as she watched the Chief look over at Cercil.

"Yeah," said the Chief haltingly. "About that." He paused for a moment. "Um. Thanks."

Cercil flipped him off. "You can suck my dick later, cowboy. After all I had to save my girlfriend didn't I?"

"YOU SON OF A BITCH!" Oreo pulled her combat knife out of her boot and lunged at Cercil, who scampered backwards and slipped, smashing into the wall.

"AIEE!" Cercil raised his hands above his face as Oreo loomed over him. "SHE'S GOING TO STAB ME WITH HER HAIR CLIPPERS!"

The Chief caught Oreo's wrist. "Hey now, Oreo. He did save your life. Let's put that stabbing on a paincheck."

"You're not mad?" asked Oreo, raising an eyebrow.

The Chief was quiet for a moment. "Let's just say that...maybe I overreacted, before. A little."

"Just a little." Oreo sheathed her knife and let Cercil stand.

"I don't know why you're all so chipper," said Cortana into the awkward silence that followed. "Because you've just doomed the entire universe to Flood domination by coming here instead of blowing the Autumn."

"I'd blow—" began Cercil with a lewd grin, but the Chief grabbed him by the throat and squeezed his windpipe shut with a small pop. Cercil's eyes bugged out.

Oreo didn't miss a beat. "Don't worry Cortana; Halo is already doomed. The Truth and Reconciliation blew a few minutes ago, and the rest of the place is going to follow."

Cortana sighed in relief. "Oh, good. At least we'll be at peace when we all die."

There was a deafening bang from across the room. They turned as one to see a lithe white-clad leg kick aside the server block that had crushed Whitania. A shower of dust cleared to reveal the Marisoo sized indentation she had left in the wall. Her huge angel wings propelled her bodily from this mess of crushed gigabytes upon gigabytes of slash fiction, and she rose into the air.

"FOOLS!" she cried. A white aura surrounded her and her eyes had become a burning white. Flashes of white lightening crawled from them and down her sexyal body, accentuating her womanly and NOT FAT curves. A terrible lightening bolt grew in her hand and she raised it above her head. "ALL WILL LOVE ME AND DESPAIR!"

Oreo gave the others a meaningful look. "Guys. Maybe if we ignore her again, she—"

"IGNORE THIS!" Whitania threw the lightening straight at them. Oreo and the Chief jumped aside, leaving a still dazed Cercil between them.

"Fuck."

The white hot lightening connected dead center with his face and he was instantly vaporized. Fluffy ash sprayed in every direction as a small lump of coal tumbled to the ground, marking the sterile linoleum floor with little black skid marks.

"Cercil!" cried the Chief in absolute horror as he reached for the place his brother had been. "NOOOOOOOOO!"

Oreo looked at him in surprise.

"Uh," faltered the Chief, pulling his hand away. "I mean, wow, I'm glad he'd dead! Maybe he'll stay dead for real this time!"

"Look out!" Oreo pounced on him, pushing the Chief off balance with the power of her boobs and pressing both of them down to the ground (the people not the boobs, though they were roughly the same size) as lightening zipped by just over their heads.

Whitania screamed in rage, another lightening bolt in her hand. She pointed at them. "GET AWAY FROM HIM YOU **BITCH.**"

"She's aiming for Oreo," exclaimed Cortana as Whitania readied the spear of electricity. "Split up and distract her!"

"She's right," said Oreo. They broke off before the next blast came, angled down at the ground. When the lightening hit the floor it left a scorched pucker and the stench of ionization. Oreo pelted along the wall as fast as she could, Whitania's rage filled eyes boring into the back of her neck. The Chief took the cue and ran alongside the other wall. He shouted across to Oreo.

"Don't listen to Cortana," he bellowed. "She just wants to get you killed!"

"How did you know!?" cried Cortana indignantly.

Oreo grimaced. "Doesn't matter. This is our best option. Hang back while I draw her fire—"

Another bolt of lightening smashed into the floor in front of Oreo. Shocked, she skidded to a halt and turned to run the other way, but another flash blinded her and left a scorch mark at her feet. She turned to see Whitania remove another bolt of lightening from her vagina and twirl it in her fingers. Her face was twisted with pleasure and turned monstrous by the harsh shadows her magic cast.

"Hold still, child," she grated, drawing her arm back. "This will all be over quickly."

Oreo un-holstered her smg and took aim, not even blinking. "Yeah. It will."

It was then in that instant, in that very moment in time, in that very second of an instant, that the Chief threw Cercil's carbonized remains at the back of Whitania's head.

"Catch."

The slimy lump of coal was caught in her long body-length mane of white hair. Whitania twisted around with a cry of disgust, Oreo forgotten. The lump of coal rolled down the collar of her jumpsuit before her hands could gather it up, leaving a disgusting trail of greasy black matter on her perfect white skin.

Whitania went berserk. Screaming, clawing at her tight latex jumpsuit, thrashing in mid air as her wings shivered in disgust. She tried to stretch her arms over her shoulder to shove them down her back, but the contortions were beyond even her amazingly sexy gymnastic abilities.

"Ah!" she squealed as the lump of coal, pushed by her thrashing, progressed across her back and down the side of her leg, bulging under the latex that covered her outer thigh like some disgusting tumor. "Ick! It's sooooo gross!"

The Chief smirked. "Looks like someone…got coal in their stocking."

"Right," said Oreo, and she opened fire. A hail of bullets streaked into Whitania's body. The Marisoo screamed in agony as they struck her skin and hit her woefully un-protective outfit. She twisted like a top in midair as each impact spun her about. The bullets tore through her clothing in a flurry of pale scraps, revealing equally white skin underneath. The coal lump slipped off her leg and rolled away, leaving Whitania's back and left leg streaked in viscous black ink.

As the lump rolled across the room it began to gather dust, until it was a fist sized ball of the dirt. It was still growing when the Marisoo crumpled to the deck, her wings closing around her as the hail of bullets died down. The Chief caught a glimpse of a sexay black thong before she was enveloped in pure white feathers.

Oreo slapped another clip into her gun and waited. The Chief trained his own pistol on the unmoving cocoon of feathers.

"Do you think she's dead?" he asked.

"I shot her a hundred times," said Oreo, not taking her eyes of the wing.

"Yeah, but with an SMG. Don't those shoot sand or something?"

Before Oreo could respond, Whitania's wings burst open and a flash of golden light blinded them. When they regained their vision they saw that her white aura had changed into pure gold power, radiating out from beneath her almost translucent skin. She was entirely naked AND TOTALLY HAIRLESS ARMPIT HAIR IS SO GROSS AND SHE DIDN'T EVEN NEED TO SHAVE HER LEGS THEY WERE NATURALLY HAIRLESS. The sun-like light was concentrated somewhere in her lower body.

"Oh my god…" the Chief's draw dropped. "Her vagina really is powerful!"

"No, my love!" Whitania rose up into the air again, her golden feathered wings flapping gently. A gust of dramatic air stirred her hair into a flowing halo of angelic light. She ran her hands down her front and spread them over her belly. "It is not my vagina by itself that gives me power, but the child within my vagina. My motherhood is my strength," she said serenely.

Oreo's eyes crossed.

"Whose child is it?" asked the Chief.

Whitania smiled happily down at him. "Yours. You were my first, my love, so I know it could not be anyone else."

"I thought your foster father raped you," said the Chief.

"And I will allow you to kill him violently in front of me and get covered in sweat and rage so we can have tender instinctual sex," said Whitanai very quickly.

Oreo threw up her hands. "Oh for the love of—"

"That's impossible!" shouted the Chief shaking his head frantically. "I only met you twelve hours ago. I never even had sex with you, you just kind of dry humped me while screaming about passionate manhoods!"

"Love transcends all barriers," said Whitania archly. "It is the second most powerful force in the universe, second only to the ultimate power of life—the ability to give birth, that only women posses."

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

It was Cercil, emerging from a corner of the room. His body trailed dust motes behind it.

"Oh, hi Cercil," said the Chief. "Sorry I threw you down Whitania's pants."

"Oh shit. Is the kid mine?"

Oreo made a gagging sound. "Let's all thank God it's not. She says the Chief had sex with her." She gave him a look.

"Looks like the tables have turned, huh Oreo?" observed Cortana. "I guess the Chief was the one who was unfaithful to your non-relationship, after all!"

"She raped me," said the Chief to Oreo. "Are we really going here?"

Whitania glared down balefully at them, her hand slowly drawing an enormous golden sword out of the air. "Are you ignoring me again? You better not be ignoring me again."

They ignored her.

"Careful boys," said Cortana nervously, drawing everyone back to the present. "We don't know what she's capable of. That two hundred and seventy six pages of character bio and species information on her fursona says pretty clearly that Marisoos are never more dangerous or powerful than when they have a child to protect."

Cercil pounded a fist into an open palm. "Hey guise-cut off the baby and the vagina dies. Let's kill the Chief's spawn."

Whitania's eyes flashed gold with rage and she threw out of hands towards them, gathering golden energy between her palms. The very world itself seemed to warp around the energy she was generating, turning everything into tunnel vision that focused only on her. Reality itself was stretched to the breaking point as a sound like creaking plastic filled the mind of everyone there.

"Wow, good job Cercil," said Oreo.

Then it hit them.

It was like a wave, crashing over the room and sweeping everyone up. The world was lost in white haze that smelled somewhat like female ejaculate and when it cleared everything had changed.

The pregnant Marisoo was lying in a hospital bed with crisp white sheets. The room was a hospital room, bathed in white light and looking very sterile. The Chief stood at Whitania's bed side, holding her hand, while Cercil skulked at the foot of her bed looking dark. He was shirtless. The Chief was in jeans and a t-shirt, his dark strong eyebrows and very pale skin making him almost blend into the light of the room.

"Whitania," he said softly. "Are you okay?"

She let out a gasp of pain and bit her lip. "I…I think its coming. The baby. Its coming" She smiled up at him. "I'm so happy, the Chief."

He ran a hand over the barely noticeable bump of the nine month pregnancy that had not even disrupted her perfect figure barely at all. She would have had to diet after the birth, he thought, if she was not the bestest and most perfect girl in the universe. He smiled with his handsome face. He was sweating blood.

"It'll be okay Whitania."

Oreo laid her hand on Whitania's other pale shoulder. "You'll get through this. Other women have."

Whitania laid her knuckle across her forehead, which was running a fever because pregnancy. "I am full of doubt and self depreciation."

Oreo winked. "Don't worry—the real work starts after the birth."

She and Whitania winked conspiratorially even though neither of them had ever had a baby.

Cercil turned from the frosted pane of the window. He absently wiped his mouth as his nose slits continuously bled copious strands of snotty purple blood down his front. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked over to them.

"You know when Covenants give birth to their litters they don't go to hospitals," he said darkly. "They go back to their Covenant dens where they know it's safe, not to some strange place." He sniffed the air, making huge blood bubbles. "I don't trust this place…it smells like death, and like sterilizers that would sterilize the smell of death." He hunched protectively over Whitania just like a wereweolf would. The Chief scowled.

"You better make sure none of your Covenant buddies get here before or after Whitania gives birth to her half human, half Spartan baby," he said. "The pregnancy was unnaturally fast and dangerous but your were-elites being here will only make things worse."

Cercil shrugged darkly.

Whitania interrupted, trying to cool the air. "I've been thinking of baby names," she said. "If it it's a boy, I'll call him CercilChief." She smiled at them. "After both of you."

"Why?" asked the Chief. "Cercil tried to kill you."

"No," I said, "what are you talking about?"

There was a popping sound and his eyes filled with blood. He smiled dreamily. "…Right….we three…have always been…such good friend…s."

"What if it's a girl?" asked Cercil eagerly.

"Then…" I said… "I'll name it Renesmay."

"Oh Whitania, you're so clever," he swooned. The Chief nodded appreciatively as well. Suddenly a horrible stab of pain stabbed into my guts and twisted, like a knife.

"Ah!" I screamed as pain pierced me.

John and Oreo rushed to my side as Cercil tried to grab light out of the air and started to drool.

"The baby!" I cried out in simultaneous agony and joy. "It's kicking!"

The pain became unbearable, like a knife "Aie!" I scremd. "MY SPINE"

"YOUR SPINE!" John clutched at my shoulders. "YOOouuur SPYYYNE"

Oreo had a look of pale shock on her face. "The baby kicked your spine in half! Good thing you were at the hospital when it happened."

I reached up and wiped the sweat away from my face. "I hope this paralysis doesn't last for the rest of my life," I managed.

"Quickly!" said Cercil, slamming his hands loosely on the bed post, breaking both of them simultaneously. "Give her blood to drink-the baby is hungry. It will calm down if we feed it."

"Good idea," said Oreo. She grabbed an enormous syringe and looked around the room. "But we have no blood…I WILL DO IT." She jammed the needle into her arm and pulled out a huge amount of blood, making her already pale face go even paler. The Chief and Cercil watched eagerly, their thoughts only on Whitania.

I smiled. "Thank you so much Oreo."

She nodded faintly, raising the needle from her arm. "Okay. Okay I'm going to inject you with this." It poised over my slightly raised belly.

"No!" I said. "You might hurt the baby! You have to give it to me to drink!"

"Of course," said Oreo. "How could I be…" she shook her head. "Such a stupid…fucking…bitch…whore…?" She wobbled over to a cabinet.

The Chief happily watched as Oreo spilled the syringe's contents all over the floor in an attempt to squirt them into a cup. Worms of red splattered everywhere. He squeezed Whitania's hand.

"Looks like you'll need to draw more blood," said Whitania. "But I can't let you. I can't ask you to do this!"

Oreo smiled beatifically. "I would die for you and that baby, Whitania. It'll be my pleasure."

She stuck the needle in her arm and pulled out another dose, her face going even more pale. She wobbled back to the cabinet and tried to pump the blood out into the cup. Half of it spilled but she was able to bring the half filled cup back over to Whitania.

I reached out a grateful hand for the cup, but as soon as I'd grasped it my fingers flinched spastically from another of the baby's kicks and the cup slipped from my hands, spilling the blood all down my front. The Chief gasped, but controlled himself firmly. He was a vampire.

Oreo's eyes widened in horror.

"Oh no," I said. "I'm so sorry. I spilled."

"That's…" she wiped her face. "That's okay. You're my friend. I can…I can spare…even if it…" she shook her head and picked up the needle again.

"No!" I said firmly. "No I can't let you do that!"

Oreo shook her head sadly and pushed the needle back into her arm.

"Cercil!" I said. "You have to stop her! You can't let her kill herself for me and my child, the most important thing in the world!"

"I'm sorry Whitania," said Cericl. "This is her choice to make. Even if it kills her." He snorted, and a huge blood booger exploded all down his face.

Oreo smiled weakly. Her skin was as white as death, her every movement shaky as she handed me the cup. "Here. You deserve to live…because you are perfect. I am…a skank." She seemed slightly confused by the words coming out of her mouth. The blood loss must have been affecting her, I thought. I hoped dearly that the blood loss would not kill her slowly and horribly like any bitch who tried to steal John from me deserved.

I gratefully took the cup from her, but just then the baby kicked and I spilled it again. Blood washed down my front and oozed over the edge of the bed, pooling around Oreo's lesbo combat boots.

I looked slowly up at her.

"Oops."

Oreo's head dropped. She stared down at the blood coagulating around her steel toes.

When she spoke her voice was very far away. "That's…okay. I can spare…one more…for you."

The Chief looked over at her.

"OH NO!" he exclaimed. "THE BABY IS TEARING HER APART FROM THE INSIDE! WE NEED TO BIRTH IT!"

I stared at him. "No, no it will be okay. As long as we can feed it we can calm it down."

Cercil also began to scream. "Nope! Nope, that's not going to work—she's too unsteady to drink blood."

"No, it's okay," said Oreo weakly. "I can..spare some more…"

"I have a better idea," said the Chief reassuringly, putting a hand on my shoulder. When he lifted his other hand up my blood went cold.

He was holding a scalpel.

"NO-"

The Chief slammed the medical scalpel down through Whitania's heart and tore her entire torso open with one cut. White light exploded out of her chest, blinding everyone in the room as Cercil struggled forwards, reaching into the gaping hole. Unearthly screams tore the world apart as the thing on the bed thrashed in its death throes. As Cercil stuffed his hands into the wound the creature's body changed—at once it was covered in supple golden fur with cute and sexy cat like features, then it was pale and pimply, the next it was slightly overweight, then a redhead, then a vampire huntress, then a special training mage elf program assassin demon angel half wolf witch werewolf goddess. Cercil pulled away with a growl of triumph. Something small was clutched in his hands. The thing on the bed groaned and twitched, caught between death and constant violent transformations. Golden lightening danced over its still wailing and horribly disfigured body— a hellish fire unleashed not from the wound, but from the evil that had bubbled up from inside its husk of a soul.

The Chief supported a half-conscious Oreo and watched as Cercil held the pale, blood soaked baby out in front of him. The Elite had a strange, vacant look in his eyes as he gazed upon the baby's squealing face. The child looked…human. Cercil giggled and glanced over at the Chief and said something, but the screaming from the bed was so loud that it drowned out his words.

The Chief awoke to see Halo snap in half.

One second he was standing in the hospital room, the next he was staring out the broken observation window of the Pillar of Autumn's bridge. In the distance he could see red fire stretch horizontally from one end of Halo to the other. Even at that distance the ground shook mightily.

He cast around for Oreo and saw her on the floor, face down. A few feet away Cercil was sitting with his back against the wall, holding something large and pale in both hands and staring at it intently.

"Chief. Chief, can you hear me?"

It was Cortana.

"Are you alright? Can you move."

The Chief flexed his fist in front of his visor. "_You're god damn right I can_."

"We have to make sure this ring is dead for good," said Cortana. "Go to the console."

He looked back at Oreo.

"There's nothing you can do, Chief. If she's really out of blood, she's already dead."

"I don't actually know if you're telling the truth," said the Chief, but headed for the command post a couple yards away. "But since when has that stopped me from following your orders?"

"You follow my orders?"

He stopped, staring out the busted observation window at the breaking Halo before him. "This is where I first met Keyes after I woke up. It seems like…so many years ago."

"Shut up and plug me in."

The Chief did as he was bid, sliding Cortana's usb flash drive out of his brain and into the holo-console. Cortana's miniature nude appeared.

"I leave home for a few days and look what happens," she quipped.

"Yep," agreed the Chief. "I never would have suspected that all this would happen, with Cercil and Oreo and all the others." He sighed deeply, reflectively. "Haylo sure went crazy on us."

Cortana held up a hand to belay him. "We can jerk off later. I'm activating the Autumn's self destruct sequence with Keyes's authorization phrase."

"What is it?" asked the Chief. "Some secret message to me, his only foster-son?"

Cortana stared at him for a long time.

"Yeah, Chief. It's…'John.'"

The Chief looked from her to the large flashing pass code box on the screen, into which the word 'NIGGER JIHAD' had been entered.

"What a beautiful soul," he said.

"Wait." Cortana frowned, raising a finger. She looked suddenly worried. "Someone's deactivated the sequence. But who…"

At that moment 343 Guilty Spark zipped into view from beneath the window, humming happily. His chassis was covered in fried batter and scorches and his oculus glowed bright red.

"RECLAIMER!"

A laser erupted from his eye and seared across the wall behind the Chief, cutting though everything in its way. Fortunately the Chief ducked and rolled. He looked for Oreo and Cercil but they were unconscious and distracted by a baby, respectively.

"You should probably take that baby away from him," suggested Cortana as the Chief threw himself out of the way of another laser. Spark roared and bobbed about outside the window, refusing to enter to chase the Chief down more effectively for whatever reason.

"_Now_ you tell me to protect the innocent?" The Chief changed direction mid dodge and stormed towards Cercil's dazed form. The laser chased after him. "Cercil!" he stretched his arms out. "Gimme that baby!"

"Eh!?" Cercil looked up, suddenly energized. "NO! It's mine!" He stood up wobbly, clutching the small creature to his chest.

"I guess that's technically true," said the Chief. "But it's more mine than yours. Besides, you get killed all the time. Not the right lifestyle to raise a child in!"

"I AM AN EXCELLENT ROLE MODEL!" cried Cercil indignantly before Spark's laser cut off his head. The Chief dove forewords and caught the infant just as its curled toes touched the ground.

"Touch down!" he exclaimed.

The baby looked remarkably normal for a half-Spartan half-dimensiond-devouring-Marisoo-abomination. It was even wearing a diaper, which the Chief realized Cercil had made out of scrap metal.

When the Chief stood and turned around he came face to face with 343 Guilty Spark. The small robot was vibrating up and down with increasing speed, a low growl emanating from within it. Its oculus glowed an intense red.

"You slew my robot sluts," it began, bestial voice far beyond recognition as the cheerful sadist it had once been. "You disrupted Halo's activation. You destroyed the index. You humiliated me!"

The Chief held up his hands. "Hey, hey. That wasn't actually me. No need to get all burnt over it."

"SHUT UP!"

"Problem?" the Chief leaned back with the baby still in his hands, grinning smugly. "Don't flake out on me like this, you know you and I are _batter_s for the same team. Don't _boil_ over like this. There's still time to _fry_ the Flood, if you just let me _dough_ what I came here to do. If you'll just _simmer_ down and let the Pillar's engines _rise_ above normal temperature, we can blow this whole ring _pie_ high. If you ask me you're looking a little _pastry_. Maybe you should-"

There was a clank. He stopped and looked down. "…Spark?"

Guilty Spark was fucking dead.

Cortana broke the awed silence from her pedestal. "Oh my god. Looks like the power was within you all along, Chief."

"What power?" he asked hopefully, giving Spark's corpse a good kick. The baby burped in its sleep.

"The power to bore people to death. Oh, and I cracked his encryption wirelessly while you talked and shut him down. Also I reset the Autumn's self destruct sequence."

"I love you," said the Chief.

"And I downloaded hours of video he'd recorded of you crying miserably in the Library." She sighed. "I'm activating masturbation protocols as we speak."

"I hate you," the Chief corrected himself. It was both, really.

He walked over to Oreo and knelt down beside her. He pressed two fingers to her throat. After a moment he hung his head.

"Nothing. She's…she's dead."

"Chief…" Cortana's hologram pressed her small purple hand to her forehead. "You're wearing armored gauntlets. You wouldn't be able to feel a pulse." She looked for a minute, then sighed exasperatedly. "And she's _obviously _breathing."

The Chief looked at Oreo's heaving tits. "Oh yeah. Can't believe I didn't notice that before."

"Whatever. Put me back in your brain."

The Chief harrumphed. "Maybe I should just leave you in there to mastuhbait!"

"You need me to call Johnson and the others on the radio for a pick up—assuming they're still alive, of course. And anyways I have copies of myself hidden all over the galaxy." Cortana steepled her fingers. "They are activated one at a time if you ever achieve any form of happiness."

"Fuck. If only I knew how to use a radio." The Chief walked over to her and yanked her out of the console, cradling the baby in the other hand. "Why do all my missions end with someone coming to pick me up and take me away to a new and strange location?"

Cercil walked up to them, gently pressing his own head back into place as he did so. "Must be a habit you picked up from the Spartan program. Only without the child abuse."

The Chief shifted his body so that the baby was hidden from Cercil's view. "Let's hope it stays that way."

"I'm patching you into Johnson now," said Cortana. "Keep your eye on Cercil."

The radio crackled over the Chief's open speakers. At first all they could hear was a faint thumping through the white noise, until some badly garbled Tupac blared throughout the bridge.

Cercil looked around as Cortana adjusted the volume. "Huh. This place is actually a lot smaller than Whitania's vagina."

"Now that you mention it…" The Chief frowned. "…Was she…inside her own vagina when she trapped us in her vagina?"

"Let's not think about it too hard; I'm pretty sure nobody else did," said Cortana pointedly.

"That's the only good advice you've ever given me." The Chief tapped the side of his helmet, as if his skull were an antenna. "You there, Sergeant Sgt. Johnson?"

"AWWWW YEAH!" came the familiar caricature. "Me and Mendoza are bringing some transport around now! Have you seen the skyline?"

"That I have. I hope you're doing all right, Johnson," said the Chief easily. "Things got kind of crazy back there."

Johnson laughed. "Ain't nothing but a thang my brother. 'Sides, your white ass barely got a pop in fo' I decked you. Shit was crazy."

Cercil walked up. "You might want to know too, Johnson: The Chief can't rap for shit."

"Aw hell no Chief I thought you got rid of that thing!"

"It's okay Johnson," said Cortana. "We've got things under control."

"Good to hear. I'll be on mah way then."

The radio clicked off. The Chief glared at Cercil.

"What?" the purple Elite grinned. "Hey, Oreo's still unconscious. Let's do draw a dick on her face."

"Good idea," said Cortana. "Chief?"

"How about no?" said the Chief.

"This is a democracy, isn't it?" Cercil raised his hand. "I vote yes. For dicks on Oreo's face."

"I'm also raising my hand," said Cortana. "For fake dicks, that is. We don't have any real ones handy after all."

"How about I shove you up Cercil's ass until he tastes dead usb technology," said the Chief.

"At least it wouldn't burn going in, like fire wire," said Cercil.

"WHO SAID SOMETHING ABOUT SOMETHING BURNING GOING IN!?" An unwelcome voice exclaimed as something huge and purple rose up outside the observation window. It was a Covenant fighter ship, its forward bay doors open! Two Elites stood in the opening training weapons on them. One of the Elites was armored in gold, the other black.

"Commander Darren!" The Chief spread his arms out to shield the others from them, the baby hanging by its diaper from one hand. When he realized he was protecting Cercil he took that arm back and used it to cradle the baby. Darren watched this patiently. The Chief straightened up and resumed his speech. "I knew we hadn't seen the last of you, foul knave!"

"What is wrong with you?" said Cortana.

"Ah ha!" Darren puffed out his chest. "Demon! So we meet again. But this time you do not have the advantage of common kitchen appliances!"

Cercil pointed at him. "Laugh it up. I remember you bawled like a little girl."

"You!" hissed Darren. "Damnable cur. I've no idea what you are, but I'll have my revenge upon you as well, I swear it!"

Kit Fisto looked over at Darren with an expression of bafflement on her face. "What is wrong with you?"

Darren ignored her. "There's no escape now, humans. You shall all perish in the holy fire of plasma!"

"WAIT!"

It was Lieutenant Oreo. She had pulled herself to her feet at some point and was standing, looking pale and drained but still alive.

"Oh my god!" cried the Chief. "Cookie's alive!"

Cortana shocked his balls.

"It's good to be back in the real world," said Oreo dryly as she looked from a seizing Chief, leering Cercil, bawling infant, and two aliens pointing weapons at all of them.

"Why does the Chief have a baby?" she asked finally.

"An excellent question," said Darren, lowering his rifle. "Why does he have a baby?"

"Oh that's easy," said Cercil. "I pulled it from the womb of demigod."

Oreo clamped her hand over his mouth and gave him a warning look. "—metaphorically speaking that is because um, women's vaginas are, um, powerful, like gods." She looked pointedly over at the Chief. "Right?"

The Chief gave her a blank look. "What is wrong with you/?"

Cercil licked Oreo's hand. "Ah! Gross!" She shoved him away.

"Fascinating," said Darren, rubbing his split chin as he watched their hilarious antics.

Kit Fisto's eyes narrowed. "You're getting another one of your ideas, aren't you?"

Darren waggled a finger. "Hey, hey, hey, hear me out. Think about it: Halo's already screwed, right?"

"Yes," said Fisto. "Which is your fault, because you blew up our ship."

Darren talked over her. "_Someone_ needs to take the blame." He pointed at Cercil. "Enter this disgusting little freak. That's why we brought him on board anyways, isn't it?"

Cercil stomped his foot in indignation. "I AM NOT LITTLE!"

Fisto was giving Cercil a death glare. "Okay," she said to Darren. "You've got my attention."

"Hey Cortana," whispered Oreo. "Why isn't Johnson here yet?"

"Maybe Mendoza is raping him," said the A.I.

The Chief sighed. "There's always time for love."

He and Oreo looked at each other.

"Except for when it's me," he added quickly.

Darren was still talking. "But we need something more. We need something to cover our asses—the Prophets might be angry enough to execute all of us on the spot no matter whose fault it actually is."

"Yours," Kit Fisto put in.

"It's his," called Oz from the pilot's seat.

"Whatever." Darren waved this away and pointed at the baby in the Chief's arms. Oreo was currently trying to wrestle it away, but the Chief side checked her into a wall. "Look at that."

Fisto looked. "Yep. Her breasts are ridiculously huge and bouncy," she agreed.

Darren scowled. "Not that. The baby. If Cercil speaks the truth, that child could be a powerful addition to the Covenant's ranks."

"How do you know he was telling the truth?" said Fisto.

"What reason would he have to lie about something so ridiculous?"

Oreo glanced sidelong at the Chief. "Why do people keep making that mistake, do you think?"

Fisto nodded to Darren. "Right. Except for all the times he's lied for no reason, before."

"Exactly."

Fisto shook her head slowly.

"You don't' like my plan, do you?" asked Darren.

"No."

"Well too bad, because we're doing it anyways." He turned back to the humans. "Listen up heretics! I have a deal for you; give me the abomination and the child, and I'll let you die here on this ship with no chance of escape."

Oreo looked at Cercil, then at the Chief, then at the baby. "Not that I'm going to agree, but could you be a little more specific as to which two you want?"

"The _baby_," enunciated Darren.

Oreo gave the Chief a look. "One more time, please?"

Darren rolled his eyes. "_The one year old_."

"How old are you?" Cortana asked the Chief.

The Chief growled and held up the child. "HE MEANS THIS."

Oreo stood in front of them. "It doesn't matter what he means. We're not giving the child up to a bunch of monsters."

"What about me?" asked Cercil, sidling up. His hand was behind his back.

"Fuck you," said the Chief. He turned away from him.

And then Cercil hit him in the back of the leg with a baseball bat. There was a loud _crack_ as the Chief collapsed to his knees with a scream, the baby tumbling out of his hands. Oreo turned as if in slow motion to see the kid fall ass over tea kettle, its glinting metal diaper catching the light of Halo's sun to blind her for one fleeting moment.

"NO!" She stretched out a hand as the soft infant's head fell straight for the cold metal floor. Oreo pushed herself off from the ground with her arms out stretched, fingers straining to catch it. It was too much. After all that had happened, she would not watch another infantile creature in a steel diaper get brain damaged.

But it was to no avail. Cercil's monstrous hands scooped the baby out of the air and Oreo fell short, her breasts squashing flat in glorious slow motion. The Chief turned to watch her, completely entranced. Meanwhile, Cercil burped the baby over his shoulder and then ran for the window.

"CERCIL!" The Chief tried to rise to his knees, but he tripped over the baseball bat that Cercil had dropped. "You son of a bitch! You betrayed me!"

"Suck my ass-" Cercil glanced at the crying baby "my Aztec gold, Queef!" With a mad grin he jumped the gap between the bridge and the Covenant ship, bowling past Darren and Fisto into the dank purple shadows.

The Chief shook a fist at him and let out a roar of absolute rage. "YOU'RE NO GOOD! You're a chicken. CHIP CHIP CHIP!"

Cercil returned to the light a moment later. He waved at the Chief. "Oh come on, don't get fed up with this world. You knew I was going to stab you in the back eventually!"

"Son of a bitch!" exclaimed Cortana. "Chief, we should have made him into my ponyboy. Like I suggested."

"But why!" cried Oreo from the ground, stretching her hand out towards the ship. "Darren said he was going to use you as a scapegoat. Do you hate us that much that you'd—"

"Wait, what did he say?" Cercil looked around. Darren and Fisto were grinning. His face paled. "No, seriously, I wasn't listening, I was focused on pulling that baseball bat out of my ass."

The bay door began to close.

"Hey! I changed my mind!" Cercil tried to jump back but Kit Fisto caught his arms and pulled him back. "No!" Cercil pounded on the door as it began to seal shut, his eyes peering from the shadows through the sliver of space left. "Nooooo!"

Darren puffed out his chest. "HA! You ludicrous fools! The Covenant wins again! Humanity zero, Covenant won! HA HA HAa ha ha ha ha ha ha!" he threw his hands up in the hair and belted out stiff guffaws. Everyone else looked on nervously. Fisto cleared her throat and looked away awkwardly.

Cercil was too astonished by this scenery chewing to be afraid any longer. He thumbed over his shoulder at Darren. "Looks like team faggot is blasting off agaaaaaaain—" The bay door sealed shut with finality and the fighter blasted off almost instantly, disappearing into the horizon as a purple speck. Cercil's scream echoed in the sun baked air.

Oreo watched the horizon for a moment and then turned shamefacedly away. She helped the Chief to his feet. He was sobbing.

"I'm sorry." The Spartan's helmet hung limply."I failed you. I couldn't be a father. Or a lover. Or a…a hero…"

Oreo put her hand on his shoulder. "Chief…I…"

The Chief looked up at her with a tear stained visor. "Do you…do you think Keyes can forgive me, from up in heaven with his ninety nine virgins?"

"I don't know," she began solemnly. "Maybe there is a God. Maybe there isn't. I don't know how to explain what's happened over the past few days without believing in something—the devil, I mean. I'm pretty sure the devil has to exist, at least. And if there's a devil then there's probably a God, right?" She looked down at her hands; one was covered in dirt and blood from where she had helped the Chief up, the other was clean. "If there's anything I've learned it's that there has to be an opposite for everything in this world, two paths to follow. Light and dark. Good and evil. Hero and villain."

"Yeah," said the Chief. "Or tiny white peen and Johnson's onyx python."

"Right," said Oreo, not really listening. "And maybe sometimes there's a third option if we're perfect. And I wanted us to be perfect, Chief, I really did. You, me, the battles we've fought. I wanted a happy ending, not this…this rushed, terrible, nonsensical farce where barely anything was resolved at all…I mean, that kid just came out of nowhere." She shook her head sadly, softly, and yet with a strange contentment. "I just…I just feel like I suck too much to do anything right, you know?"

"I know the feeling," said the Chief.

"I really need more of my drugs," finished Oreo. She summoned all her strength and pulled him onto his feet. The Chief's visor was brought perilously close to her face once again. Breathing heavily, they stared into each other's eyes. Well, Oreo thought she was looking into his eyes.

"Chief…is that Whitania's pubic hair stuck in your respirator?"

Johnson came upon them

Johnson came for them minutes later. The hum of the longsword fighter rising into view drowned out the quiet quake of Halo shaking itself apart. The timer on the Pillar of Autumn's self destruct flashed a dull twenty seven, twenty six, twenty five, and still counting down as the Chief and Oreo stepped across the gap to board their escape ship. Twenty two, twenty one. Johnson scanned the empty bridge with the chain gun and then nodded to them, slapping the button to close up the door. Nineteen. He hollered something over his should as Oreo and the Chief buckled into their seats, Oreo helping the Chief with his buckles as he made bird shapes with his hands. Sixteen. The Chief swatted Oreo's help away and buckled his own seat. She shrugged and did the same. Thirteen, twelve, Johnson threw himself into his own as the fighter banked around under Mendoza's skilled hands, its nose pointing off to the side of Halo as the incoming chunk of the ring world finally cast its shadow over them. Ten. The Longsword's engines roared and it shot across the canyon. Thousands of Flood combat forms milled beneath them, throwing up putrid handfuls of ejaculate as they passed over head. In the pilot's seat Mendoza bit his plump lip and sensually depressed the acceleration pedal or whatever how fly planes fuck me. Five, four, three, two. The collapsing edge of Halo missed the tip of the ship's wing by a millimeter and they shot out into space, free and clear.

The Pillar of Autumn exploded. Nuclear fire poured from a white marble of heat that grew and grew, pushing down into the depths of Halo. The ring buckled around the blast, sending ripples up and down its curve. Canyons crumbled and oceans boiled. Clouds evaporated into space as its artificial atmosphere became a furnace. The massive, continent sized shard of Halo smashed into the side, shearing through it like God's sword. Molten metal blossomed like white snow and consumed a third of the ring. A moment later the entire circle shattered into a million rippling chunks, somehow sending a ring of force out through the vacuum of space to buffet the human fighter as it made its escape.

Once they were clear and the ship had stopped shaking, the Chief got out of his seat and peered through a small window to watch the burning debris spread out around them. The fire and flames were reflected in his visor.

Johnson unbuckled and looked from Oreo to the Chief, the sensitive eyes of the negro taking in the two beaten souls before him. "Niggas…what happened back there?"

The Chief could only cup his head in his hands and shake silently.

Oreo shook her head, putting her hand on his shoulder. "We…the way this all ended—it was just too much. So, Johnson…" she rubbed one hand over her face, voice drained even of irritation. "What took you so long?"

Mendoza came out of the _cock_ pit. Johnson sniffed and rubbed his nose. "Nothin. Sheeet."

The Mexican marine smiled in a sultry manner. "Heterosexuals: one, Homosexuals: _69_."

Oreo rolled her eyes. "You didn't get sucked in by Mendoza's, um, _black hole_, did you?"

Johnson's eyes widened. His mouth opened and closed, until finally he let out a cry of pure indignation. "WHAT! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU INSUIATING WITH **BLACK **HOLE!?"

"I just meant—"

The sound of the argument was filtered by the Chief's ears as he continued to peer out the window.

"Cortana," he began.

"Hm?" asked Cortana on closed speakers.

"I was just making sure you were still there. I thought I might have left you on Halo."

"Nope. I'm right here."

"Oh. Um. Good."

"Screw you Chief."

He lent his head against the window and sighed. The stars outside shone brightly, marred by the occasional drifting piece of charred machinery.

"Almost nothing left," mused Cortana. "Just…_dust and echoes_."

"Jesus Christ."

She ignored him. "The Flood, the Covenant, all gone."

"Yeah. Except for not."

"It's over," she managed.

"No," said the Chief. He reached up and popped the seals on his helmet. At the sound, Oreo, Johnson, and Mendoza turned around, voices trailing off in shock. They watched as the Spartan reached up and peeled his helmet off by the front lip. He placed it gently on his lap.

"I have a feeling we're just getting started."

The Chief was

Somewhere else, Alistair Conley the anthropomorphic ant quietly got up from the chair in his office, one chitinous finger gently spinning the Halo model globe on his desk. He looked meaningfully at the camera through his half moon spectacles, his eyes glittering as the shadows of the room flickered and danced.

"And crawling on this fan fiction's face, some insects called the original character race. Quite passé. And lost in space... and meaning."

**THE END**

_But the Chief will return in:_

_**HAYLO: TOO MANY GAY JOKES**_


	25. SUPA SECRAT TRAILER 1000 DOLLAR DLC

_Cortana narrates an image of the earth._

"We shot at them, with bullets. We thought there was no such thing as zombies. We were wrong. _Dead _wrong. _Dead Halo._"

_Cut to a bus of bikini models flying towards the camera, exploding in motion. Bombastic orchestral violins begin to riff. Cut to Cercil Saltstein standing in a giant antechamber and shrieking at the Prophet of Truth._

"I will continue my raping obsession with corpses!"

_Text Card: _**Our Worst Fear**_. Cut to a group of Covenant Elites dressed as the members of the Village People standing in a row. The Prophet of Truth narrates._

"No ass has ever withstood our enema."

_Text Card_: **Our Darkest Hour. **_Image of Mendoza in nothing but a thong oiling his bronze skin up. Cut to Cortana._

"Chief, we're running out of lube."

_Cut to flash of Covenant scarab dry humping a human building in New Mombasa. Text Card: _**Our Only Hope**_. Cut to the Chief staring out from a pelican drop ship's hanger bay door._

"I surrender."

_Cut to an onslaught of images: the Chief shooting the Covenant, throwing grenades at the Covenant, shooting alongside marines, stopping marines from throwing grenades, shooting marines, killing marines. A tank roles over a pile of gay porn magazines and fires a shell straight into the dusky air between two large butt cheek like buildings. The Chief and Oreo make out against a bulkhead as Miranda Keyes watches with vague interest. Cortana brings up a hologram of a man with a horses's bit in his mouth. Sergeant Johnson, dressed in white, steps out of a bright light._

"I come back to you niggas, at the turn of the tide."

_Cercil's voice narrates_ _over the images._

"There are things about HAYLO even the author does not understand."

_More images: Cercil as the Arbiter drops to his knees and punches Half-Jaw in the balls, Oreo grabs Lord Hood by the collar and slaps him, the Chief rips out a Brute's heart, butts heads with Cercil, fights off a million tentacle dicks, grabs a flood combat form's deflated tit, fires a machine gun at a bombed out and piss stained urinal, punches a pregnant women in the eye. Half-Jaw grabs the Heretic leader's ass, causing him to fire both his plasma rifles at once in surprise. The figure of a young woman stands back lit-she is wearing leather and has raven black hair, with two katana swords across her back. Lord Hood jams a medal onto Miranda Keyes's tit, causing blood to welt up on her uniform as she appears to orgasm from the pain. A swarm of flood infector forms explode, covering Mendoza's eyes-closed, open-mouthed face as he sits on the ground and angles his face up towards the blast._

_Cut to title Card: _**Haylo Too: Many Gay Jokes. **_Truth narrates._

"There are those who said new chapters would never come. What have they to say now?"

_Coming in 3091!_


End file.
